


What Makes Us Real

by fritzbitz



Series: Pain or love or danger [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Minutemen, Mystery, Post-Canon, Romance, ending spoilers, railroad, smut happens, suicidal implications
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fritzbitz/pseuds/fritzbitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Institute is gone, the Railroad has stabilized, and the Minutemen are well on their way to become the dominant force of order in the Commonwealth. Now, Sole Survivor Ashleigh Weathers must solve the most difficult question: now that the dust has settled, what will her place in this new world be? A murder mystery involving some liberated synths, conflicting faction goals, unrealistic expectations of her skills as a lawyer, and a bumpy reentry into romance only serve to complicate the situation.</p><p>- - On Hiatus - -</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A sociable smile ain't nothing but teeth

**Author's Note:**

> And so I continue the story of Ashleigh Weathers. I wanted to explore more of the potential for the Sole Survivor to make a life after the events of the game. Also, she was a lawyer (or, had a law degree, at least) before becoming sad popsicle mom, and I've been really interested in working on something that lets her use those skills in a true-to-the-Commonwealth fashion. Also, I have a mighty need to explore her relationship with Deacon some more. 
> 
> Lastly, the title of the story as well as chapter titles are inspired by Jack Kerouac quotes. I think Deacon would be quite a Kerouac fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do read Pink Flamingos first. It's not critical to understanding this story, but it does help to give background on Ashleigh and her relationship with Deacon.

> Pain or love or danger makes you real again...  
>  -Jack Kerouac, _The Dharma Bums_  
> 

Ashleigh looked at the items on her desk and tried to piece together meaning through them. Here were enshrined the items with which she convinced herself to keep pressing forward. That what she was doing was right, that the sacrifices were worth the horrible waste. Some holotapes – H2-22’s goodbye, Shaun’s note on the synth Shaun, Nate's last recording – as well as a few written notes ranging from an appreciative letter from Sanctuary’s settlers to Patriot’s suicide note. The wedding ring she stopped wearing long ago when the weight of it became too much. 

None of it answered the question of the day. Her mission to find her son had ended, explosively, hypocritically, and so much more painfully than she had ever imagined, but at the end of the day she was _alive_. Alive, in this desolated world. She longed to move forward, but the question remained – how?

The Institute was gone. The Railroad’s mission was coming closer to completion every day, with more and more synths being given new lives by agents much more capable of that than her. The Minutemen had grown to such a strength that they were more than capable of defending themselves against the small threats that were a daily fact of life in the Wasteland. 

But even beyond the causes she supported, Ashleigh wondered what room the world had for  _her_ anymore. After she was released from the Vault, she had become an angel of vengeance, seeking retribution for the loss of her world and the two people she cared about most. The more she saw of this new world, the more this fire was fueled, until she eventually found herself an agent of righteous fury, upholding the ideals of the old world which she still desperately clung to – freedom, safety from tyranny and threat, equality – that led her to support the Railroad with the singlehanded determination that changed the fate of her city. But now she found herself called back to the banalities of a daily life that was both foreign and terrifying to her. 

Her outbursts at the party the week before had helped her to realize this need to move on, but it had done nothing to help her see how. If anything, it had made her more uncertain in ways she had never _really_ considered being unsure about, particularly regarding a lying spy who had _oh so timely_ been called back to Railroad HQ the day after the party and left without so much as a word.

It was probably best that way anyways. Kissing him wasn’t a mistake, per say, though she recognized the degree to which her emotional state at the time had influenced it. She couldn’t deny the physical attraction she had always felt towards him, but convinced herself that’s all it was. They were good friends and partners, and she really didn’t have the capacity for anything deeper than that in her life right now. So, his disappearance was good. She would see him again the next time she went back to Railroad HQ, and by then enough time will have passed that the tension caused by their last meeting will be a thing of the past. Nothing ruins friendships quite like intimacy, and as far as Ashleigh was concerned, there was no one else she needed in her corner more.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. “General,” came Preston's smooth voice from outside. “We have a situation that needs your attention.”

Ashleigh sighed. There always seemed to be a Vary Terrible Happening somewhere under Minutemen protection. “Preston, I told you,” she began as she swung the door open, nearly knocking Preston's hat off in its swiftness, “if some settlement on the other side of Boston needs a few ghouls cleared out, for the love of god, send the local militia. General’s on vacation.”

“Unfortunately, this is bigger than that,” he said regretfully as he stepped through the portal into Ashleigh’s house. She stayed in her prewar home, though not without its share of renovations so significant (largely thanks to Sturgess) that it barely resembled the place she and Nate had once purchased. At least the apocalypse got her out of a hefty mortgage.

They took a seat on some mismatched furniture before Preston continued. “There was a murder at Starlight Drive-In.” _Oh, shit._ That was a bit bigger than some ferals. “The locals are convinced it was a crime of passion. They have the suspected perpetrator locked up, and the people want to see justice. It's the job of the Minutemen to protect these settlements, and that means keeping vigilante justice to a minimum.”

“A militia and a police force? Don't you think that’s pushing the power of the Minutemen a bit too far?”

“I know what you're saying, General, but I can't in good conscious let these people string up the accused without some sort of outside oversight. I've seen what happens to the settlements that go down that path, and it's just as bad, if not worse, than the risk that comes with the Minutemen expanding their powers. This kind of thing breeds suspicion and paranoia, and only makes things like this happen more often, and with innocent people getting hurt.”

Ashleigh thought it over for a moment. If they were to expand into certain law enforcement roles, the Minutemen could become even more adept at keeping the peace in its allied settlements, but this was exactly the kind of thing that led to their downfall before her time. _Small men with big power,_ Deacon had once said about them, and she couldn’t help but agree with that. However, the other part of her couldn’t stand for the idea of unbloodied farmers killing a person who didn’t even have a fair trial. 

She knew she would agree to his proposal, but that stubborn part of her at least wouldn’t let it be easy. 

“I don’t know, Preston, this entire thing just reeks of power fantasy. What would you have me do, anyways? They're not going to be very happy about an outsider getting involved in their business.”

He leaned forward and gave her that almost annoyingly sincere look. “You're not an outsider – you’re their General. Just go in there and investigate. If this person is guilty, we can carry out an official sentencing. If she's innocent, convince them. I know you used to be a lawyer.”

“Litigations, yeah. And how the hell did you find out about that?”

Preston looked away sheepishly before admitting, “Codsworth mentioned it.”

_Fucking traitor._

“Look, I'm a lot better at proving guilt than innocence.” After passing the bar, Ashleigh had entered into a well paying but entirely soul-crushing career with a top law firm, specializing in class action lawsuits against Boston's thriving pharmaceutical industry. It was a lot of wining and dining with the rich and morally bankrupt on both sides, with a healthy dose of listening to the stories of the people who had lost or sometimes gained limbs and innards as a result of the miracle cures that were pushed by these companies. The lack of this profession in the Wasteland was no huge blow to the wellbeing of humanity, and she really doubted it instilled in her any type of useful skills for these people. Which was why she had failed to mention it to anybody. 

Next time Codsworth powered down for maintenance, he was going to wake up with some screws loose for being so open with her past.

 “I'll see what I can do,” she offered with exaggerated reluctance, even though a part of her was intrigued. She was starting to get bored of the time off. 

Preston smiled brightly at his victory. “Great! I'll send word that you're on your way. I'll go too, but I have some things to take care of here first. I'll be right behind you.”

She smirked at Preston's single-mindedness. Of course _she_ didn’t have anything to wrap up (she didn’t, but that was beside the point), but he was just happy that justice was being served. She admired that about him, this innocence, as infuriating as it could be sometimes. The world needed more people like that in her time, and even more so now. 

“I'll leave first thing tomorrow.”

* * *

Ashleigh packed a small bag of belongings – clothes, protection, _bigger protection_ (you never know when a surprise deathclaw is coming), some food, and saw to any final preparations in the morning. 

She left Shaun with Codsworth and set out, though he had been taking care of the child more than she had anyways. A part of her wanted a chance at raising her child, but another part couldn't get over how terrible of a mother she would have been even before she became a one-woman army and murdered the flesh and blood Shaun. She also hadn’t quite gotten over how fake and entirely wrong adopting a synth of her dead child felt, but really this was all a problem for another day and she pushed the worries about it to the back of her mind where she hoped she would entirely forget about them until they solved themselves.

On the bridge exiting Sanctuary, she looked back to see Dogmeat following her at a leisurely pace, all wagging tail and flapping tongue as he panted away the hot summer morning. She remembered how instrumental he had been in finding Kellogg, and decided against telling him to turn back. She may need that nose to solve another mystery. 

She stopped at the other side of the bridge near Red Rocket to let Dogmeat catch up and give him a scratch behind the ear. “Do you need some water, boy?” she asked playfully, and was answered by a sloppy lick up her arm. “Let's go see if we can find some for you.” 

This time Dogmeat led the way, and Ashleigh waved at a few familiar settlers as the pair made their way to the small water pump. Dogmeat excitedly lapped up the water from the bucket while she was still pumping it, flinging slobber and water all over her. 

Once the bucket was full enough to satisfy the dog, Ashleigh backed up to look around. Her progress was suddenly stopped as she backed into something solid and let out a startled, “Oof,” before turning toward the obstacle. 

There stood Deacon in farm clothes and the familiar sunglasses, looking entirely too entertained by what just happened. 

“I told you I hate it when you sneak up on me like that.” She made a point not to return his casual smile. This was an encounter she had absolutely not calculated for today, and from where she stood he deserved every amount of vitriol she had to throw at him after he ran off on her like he did, even though she wished he hadn’t come back so soon. 

Deacon smirked. “I can't help it. What's that saying – quiet as a cat?”

She let out a snort and chimed back, “You know I’m a dog person.” As if on cue, Dogmeat, finished with the water, nudged her hand into ear scratching position. “Quiet as a cat - just like how you left without a word after the party last week, right?”

Deacon's smirk quickly faded, and he took half a second longer to consider his words than usual, a detail that did not go unnoticed by Ashleigh. They had been partners long enough for her to pick up on even his most minute mannerisms. He didn't have _tells,_ per say, but there were certain patterns to his behavior that Ashleigh had been able to piece together into tiny pictures of Deacon that told her a lot more than his words ever did. She wouldn’t have gotten this far in the world – old or new – without this sharp perception, and no one tested it as much as he did. 

When he spoke, it was with a low, sincere voice. “I really did get called back to HQ, we had a bit of an situation. All under control now.” He shifted nervously. “I'm sorry. I should have said something.” 

Ashleigh took note of him rubbing the base of his head like he did when his wig was irritating him, but today his head was unadorned. Maybe he did have tells, at least when something personal came up. Or maybe he was just playing it for effect, to emphasize how much he clearly didn't want to talk about this. Not that Ashleigh particularly did either, she was much to irritated for this discussion, but she also felt a not insignificant amount of guilt at how she was treating him, and _goddammit why couldn't she just be mad at him like she wanted?_

She smiled in her best attempt at a polite smile, despite herself. “Apology accepted, shithead.”

“Well, glad to see nothing has changed. Wouldn't want to think you were _actually_ falling for me back then,” he said, with no small amount of amusement in his voice. 

If he wasn't going to play nice, neither was she. “Of course not. I like my men with a full head of hair.” 

To lessen the blow, she took the initiative to playfully brush her fingers against his. He responded with a moment of surprise before returning the gesture. The contact lasted for only seconds, and for their part both pretended not to notice the momentarily entwined fingers at their hips. Ashleigh couldn’t help the slight flutter in her insides, but she quickly banished any thoughts about its meaning that came with it.

Deacon faked offense at her comment, before offering, “I can have hair if I want to. I just happen to have a very shapely head. It would be a shame to hide it from the world all of the time. You like it.” 

 _Jesus Christ, they were flirting._ This was not part of the plan. This was, in fact, so far off the plan that they had probably entered into an alternate universe at this point with how deeply reality had been bent. They were in new, uncharted territory now, which existed somewhere between _holy shit it was probably a mistake making out with him at the party after all_ and _dear god had she always kind of wanted to rip off his clothes and fuck his brains out._ She tried to convince herself these were both perfectly healthy reactions. It had been a very, _very_ long time since she'd gotten laid.

That thought brought memories of their only ever so slightly buzzed experience the week before. How pleasantly warm his body had been against hers, the taste and smell of him, the delicious sounds he made as he responded to her touch, how well their bodies fit together and how many ways to entwine they had yet to explore…

Ashleigh was saved from her thoughts getting even further ahead of herself by the sound of Dogmeat barking and running off ahead. At least someone remembered they had a job to do. 

“Hey, Dee, I don’t know what your plans are, but I was just headed to Starlight for some Minutemen business. Get this – Preston actually had something a bit different this time.” She hoped the change in tone concealed the nervous quiver in her voice, though she knew he would catch it anyways. 

Deacon's smile was gone, however, and he had become all business. “Starlight? Shit. That’s actually why I’m here. What do the Minutemen want you to do there?”

Ashleigh's features scrunched in confusion. “There was a murder and they want me to find the culprit and deal with it. What does this have to do with you?”

Deacon rolled on the balls of his feet and sighed heavily, looking around to make sure no one was in earshot. “So… this complicates things. We really didn’t want the Minutemen involved here.” 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the Railroad would be interested in a murder at a settlement. “The victim…”

“Was a synth. Yeah,” Deacon completed for her. 

“Goddammit, this is just going to raise more suspicions. Just when people were beginning to stop accusing their neighbors of being synths, too.”

Deacon nodded in agreement. “Everyone at the settlement knows too. According to our intel, that’s why they’ve kept the suspect on lockdown. They’re not sure if they should hang her or thank her. Unfortunately, that’s not the worst part.”

“Of-fucking-course it's not.”

“The victim _and_ her wife are synths. We helped them out just after you left the Vault but before you joined the Railroad. They escaped together and wanted to stay an item, so Amari gave them the memories of a happy, human couple and we sent them to this brand new, luxury establishment at the drive-in.”

There was only one way this was going to go, and Ashleigh really didn’t want to hear it. “If you make this story worse like I know you're going to, I am going to punch you in the face.”

“Then I won't tell you that the person they have on lock-down for committing the murder is the wife, who had no idea that the love of her life wasn't human. Or that she isn’t either. It's a mess.”

“Shit.”

It was amusing to think that Ashleigh had woken up with confident expectations how this day would go. She would get to the settlement, talk to some witnesses, put those detective skills she worked on with Nick to good use, all the while effortlessly charming all the townsfolk. At the end of the day it would turn out to be nothing more than a feral dog attack, she would take care of the animals, and everyone would thank her for solving the case and saving them from executing an innocent civilian. The matter would be dealt with before Preston even arrived, and there would be no need to address the growing duties of the Minutemen. And they all lived happily ever after. 

“I am almost afraid to ask what Dez wants us to do to deal with this.”

“Easy. You show up, work your magic and convince the people it's nothing to worry about in that crazy way you do, while I sneak the synth out. We give her new memories and send her somewhere safe, preferably out of the Commonwealth.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Unfortunately, that’s out the window now that the Minutemen are involved.”

“Right. So, Dez wants the synth to come out of this alive so we don’t have more witch hunts.” Deacon nodded affirmation. “Preston wants justice to be served, whether it means the suspect is prosecuted or some other reason for the murder is determined, just as long as the Minutemen are the ones to see it through and the settlers are on board with the decision. Did I miss anything?”

“I don’t know, maybe the part where the Minutemen take over the Commonwealth and become the Brotherhood 2.0?” Ashleigh sighed loudly at the comment. “I kid. Mostly. I'm just going to take your word for it that you know what you're doing letting them get involved in this.”

“Yeah, I know, and I told Preston that I’m worried about it too, but at the very least these people should have some kind of governance in their lives. The Minutemen can provide that.”

Dogmeat barked the pair to attention again, and Ashleigh nodded to follow him. “Let's just go. We can talk strategy on the road.”

Deacon fell into pace next to her. “Alright, boss, this is your show then. How do you want to play it?”

“Well, right now I’m just really, really clinging to my faith in humanity and hoping it wasn't the wife who murdered her. That’s all I ask. Then we don’t have to worry about any conflicts of interest because nobody has to lynch the synth.” She didn’t mention that this hope was also because she didn't think she had the stomach to deal with domestic murder.

For the rest of the trip, they threw out ideas of how to handle the situation, ranging from unlikely to hilariously impractical. Unfortunately, there were just too many unknowns in the equation, and since the covert option was out due to the settlers already expecting Minutemen intervention (anything less than a show would leave them hugely disillusioned in the Minutemen's authority), it didn’t look like there was any way to go about this other than to honestly carry out the investigation and go from there. Neither of them liked going in without a plan, Ashleigh most of all, but they were confident enough in their ability to improvise. Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t even have to worry about it and the case would resolve itself into a happy ending anyways. 

Relatively happy. Someone was still dead, but they did at least have the opportunity to end the tragedy at that. 

Deacon cut the game planning short when he saw the large screen of the drive-in come into view behind the trees, signaling their arrival. “You ready for this?”

“Ready as I'll ever be. You got my back when I inevitably piss everyone off and they decide to string me up instead?” Ashleigh was the first to admit that, though she had quite a way with people when she wanted, she tended toward brashness and impatience under stress. She generally managed to keep it under check when it mattered, but she was no master manipulator like her partner, and both could recount times when her personality had gotten them into trouble. Covenant, for example, though those were memories she preferred not to return to, especially given the similarity of the problem at hand. 

Deacon responded to the self-depreciation with sarcasm of his own. “That would solve the problem though. I could get the synth back to HQ while they're busy with the execution. Maybe we should roll with it.”

Ashleigh punched him in the arm playfully, and he made an exaggerated display of hurt. “You're an ass, you know that?”

“It is a fact I am intimately acquainted with.” He quickly changed his tone to sincerity, putting a comforting hand on Ashleigh's shoulder. “Let's go.” She pretended not to notice the light trace of his fingers on her arm as he removed his hand a bit too slowly, just as she was sure he pretended not to notice how it made her shiver. 


	2. From one fallen star to another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who read, left kudos, and especially left comments on the first chapter. You guys really kept me going as I dragged my feet on writing this.

Ashleigh and Deacon made their way down the hill and toward one of the guarded entrances to the growing town. Starlight Drive-In was centrally located around many of the Minutemen farms north of Boston, and was therefore suited to grow into a larger settlement focused on trade. Starlight had become one of the Minutemen's biggest towns, and while calling it booming was a stretch, in the year since its establishment it had become home to dozens of families. What had once been irradiated mole rat holes had become saturated with small homes, shops, and public grounds.

And today, the streets were largely empty, save for the armed guards patrolling the borders. The guard nearest their entrance began raising his weapon at their approach, but Ashleigh waved at him amicably and shouted, “Ashleigh Weathers. Preston Garvey sent me to look into the situation you're having.”

The guard sheepishly lowered his gun as soon as she spoke her name, and nodded, “General.” It still sometimes bothered her, people calling her that, but at least this time it meant no need to sweet talk their way into town like they would have had to do normally.

Once they approached, the guard indicated the main street (if it could be called that) and spoke. “Thank you for coming. Sorry about the suspicion, can't be too careful with synths around.” Ashleigh was sure she could hear a quiet snort of laughter from Deacon behind her. The guard, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. “Down this way, by the diner, Levi in the general store should be able to fill you in.”

Ashleigh thanked him, and they continued on their way. She looked around, taking note of the way in which the town had grown. Beyond Sanctuary, Ashleigh had little personal influence in how these settlements developed. Urban planning was left to Preston, and it was the job of the settlers to build and develop the land using the resources Ashleigh brought them. It was impressive – in such a short time, these people had lined the streets with homes and shops. While most settlements made due with communal homes, Starlight was almost teeming with small shacks that appeared to house a single family each. The success of their trade operations must have brought the town even more resources than she had been able to provide them, and with it the people were beginning to recapture a sense of civility in the waste. Nothing to rival Diamond City or even Goodneighbor, but it was a start none the less.

When they passed by one home, the sound of children's laughter immediately was hushed, and the eyes of an elderly woman peeked through a loose board on the wall. Deacon leaned over to whisper in Ashleigh's ear. “I think they're happy to see us.”

“Let them be, they're just scared of what's been happening.”

“See, that’s the part I have a problem with. If it hadn’t been a synth killed they'd have found the killer and dealt with the problem right there. Now they think the big, bad robots are out to get them, and they're more afraid of the dead than the one committing random acts of murder.”

She couldn’t deny his point, though they both knew this logic was useless to these people. “Just pretend to be neutral, ok?” She knew Deacon had it in him, though the neutrality would undoubtedly hide sarcasm and dark humor about how he really felt in secret messages between them. That was how they operated – they would not be part of the cosmic jest, but rather the overseers of this charade, and everything was an in joke, daring the other to laugh and tear it all down.

A slightly tidier shack greeted them at the end of the street next to the diner, clearly marked Market and General Store. Dogmeat settled himself in the shade of the building. “This must be it,” she said. “Let's see what this Levi has to say.”

“After you,” Deacon said with a hint of humor in his voice. For his part, he did hold the door open.

They were greeted by a middle aged man whose skin had probably seen every beam of sunlight to hit the earth. His tanned face was rough, dry, and deeply lined. Beneath the hard exterior was a hard interior, judging by the tightness of skin over lean muscle. He greeted them with a loud shout of, ”Minutemen!” raising his hands and rushing from behind the counter to greet them. His loud, heavy strides were characterized by a pronounced limp favoring his right leg.

Ashleigh shook his hand amicably and held it for a moment to direct his attention toward her and away from Deacon, from whom she could positively feel the annoyance at being mistaken for a member of the Minutemen. “Nice to meet you, Levi, right?” Levi nodded. She released his hand once she felt she had him captive.

She was wrong. With another heavy hand, Levi gave Deacon a pat – no, more of a slap, even a light bash – on the shoulder and still shouting, “You must be the General - Weathers, right?”

_Oh. That’s offensive._

Deacon, never one to miss a beat, responded in that tone he uses when he knows he's talking to an audience that’s going to buy whatever egregious lie he could brew up. “I'd be careful about manhandling your general like that, sir. I could have you thrown in our maximum security detention center for insubordination.”

Levi backed off as gingerly as someone his size could, the smile peeling from his face. “Uhh… The Minutemen have something like that?”

Deacon sighed, feigning disinterest. “Of course we do. Right at the edge of the Glowing Sea, guarded at all hours by our toughest guys. If anyone gets out, we sic the deathclaws on them. That last guy who tried, hell, we're _still_ finding pieces of him.”

Levi's expression was a mixture of shock and fear as he listened to the story. “I didn’t mean any offense, General, it's just how I've always greeted people.”

Jesus Christ, Ashleigh could punch both of them for this show, if she didn’t think Levi's face would hurt her hand. She settled for clearing her throat loudly, until both of then looked over at her.

Levi, quick to change the topic from his impending incarceration, shouted to her, “I'm sorry, miss, I didn’t get your name!”

 _“General Ashleigh Weathers,”_ she said with about as much disdain as she could muster.

Levi gave her an odd look, then towards Deacon, and back to her again, before his face lit up with understanding and embarrassment like fireworks and his chapped lips made a little O.

Deacon stepped in, “Sorry, we were just having a bit of fun with you. No hard feelings?”

Levi shook his head rapidly, which only served to make the pink flush miraculously shining through his tanned cheeks all the brighter. Addressing Ashleigh, he shouted, “I'm sorry, miss… uh, General. I had no idea who the general was, and he looked more like the generaling type, what with the shades and the baldness and all. I didn’t mean no offense, promise!”

“None taken,” she lied. “And don’t worry, there's no prison complex either.” The relief flooded his face. “Let's get down to business, shall we? It’s been a long walk, and I'd like to start questioning some witnesses.”

“Of course, but I don’t know what good it's gonna be asking about it. Seems pretty clear the girl did it, all's left is why.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She claims she doesn’t remember anything that happened, but we found her on the ground next to the dead girl, er, synth. Thought they were both goners, but she was only sleeping.”

Deacon raised an eyebrow behind his shades. “That seems pretty convenient to me. Who found them?”

Levi put a giant hand to his neck and tapped at the base of his skull as he thought. “Let me see… Must've been old Betsy out to feed the brahmin. She lives right next door to them. Mean old thing, all the kids she's birthed must have eaten away at the brain. Oh, but don’t tell her I said that.”

“Noted.” Ashleigh made a point not to tell her that he yelled it either, though she couldn’t imagine anyone in town hadn’t heard. “Where do you have the suspect locked up? I'd like to talk to her, if that's ok.”

Levi looked around nervously, and started fishing around in his pocket. He pulled out a small key and handed it to Ashleigh. With his voice lowered for once, he said, “Here you go. Up the stairs in the diner, you'll find a safe room that we set up as a holding cell. I trust you to go alone, she creeps me right out. Uh, be sure to bring that key back when you're done.”

They thanked him and exited the shop. As soon as they got outside, Deacon spoke. “That Levi guy seemed fun, I like him. What's your read on him, _General Weathers?”_

Ashleigh let out an annoyed groan. “What the hell was that about, Deacon?”

“He seemed like the kind of guy up for a good joke. Gullible, kind of dumb, but he's got a big heart. He'll laugh about it later, promise.” Ashleigh gave him a blank stare, and he sighed. “Fine. You know that’s how I operate. People tend to slip up more when they think you think it's all a big joke.”

“Sorry, I'm just not used to being the butt of that joke.”

“No kidding. You should have seen your face.”

Ashleigh smirked. “I suppose you are sort of the _generaling type,_ with the shades and the bald and all.”

Deacon ran a hand over his scalp. “I told you, it's all in the hair. Or, lack of.” She smiled at the comment, eliciting a small grin from Deacon in return. “I see where he's coming from, though, I do look more the general type than you.”

Ashleigh raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Do you, now?”

“Sure. You're all blonde and pretty. You and I both know that you could shoot a bloatfly in the eyeball from a mile away, but you really don’t look the type. Huh... Do bloatflies even _have_ eyeballs? What do you call that bug eye thing?”

She chose to let the _pretty_ comment go. “And I’m a woman.”

“Yeah, but I was trying to leave that part out of the equation.”

“I appreciate it. Whatever, let's go have a chat with our murderer.”

They walked down the much shorter street from the shop to the diner that was a fixture of the drive-in before the bombs fell. It was now built with a platform around it creating a stairway to the flat roof, upon which was a patio and bar. Of course, what kind of run-down town would be complete without weak whiskey and cheap vodka? Ashleigh suddenly missed the flavored martinis she used to get at her favorite club in Boston when she went out with her old university friends. _Huh, now that’s a memory._ She found it funny how long you could go without thinking about the people who are absent, but once you do it hits you like a ton of bricks. Her friends have been dead for two hundred years. She wondered where they were when the bombs fell.

The inside of the old diner seemed to serve as some sort of storage area. Coolers piled the counter, while dried crops sat in the sunnier windows. At the top of the stairs was a new addition – a metal wall with a locked steel door. Ashleigh pulled out the key as Deacon looked around suspiciously. “I kinda feel like we're robbing a bank. This is what bank robberies looked like, right?”

“The robbers usually didn’t have the keys, but, yeah, this definitely feels like a bank vault.” The key clicked, and the door started to swing open with a creak.

Seated on a dilapidated crate towards the back of the room was a young woman, probably around 25. Brown hair knotted from neglect fell from her head concealing her features by casting an even deeper shadow over her dark skin, but despite this obstruction Ashleigh could tell the woman was quite beautiful.

Her clear voice broke the silence. “You’ve come to get it over with, yeah?”

Deacon answered her in a soft voice. “If by ‘get it over with’ you mean ‘find out who really killed your wife,’ then yeah.”

The woman laughed dryly and shook her head. Ashleigh stepped forward. “I'm Ashleigh Weathers. You can call me Ash, if you want. That's Deacon. Can I get your name?”

The woman turned toward her and brushed a clump of hair out of her face. “Grace.”

“Ok, Grace. Can you tell us what happened that night?”

She looked them both over carefully before she spoke. Ashleigh could feel her eyes pierce through her, both searching and lost. It was an expression she had worn herself once, and she understood exactly what was going on behind those eyes. Despair. Loss. Mistrust. Anger. It makes you wonder if your eyes will ever focus again, and if you'll ever stop feeling this numb, as if your limbs are gone. And she knew the answer was that you won't, but someday you'll learn to live without these parts of you, and that was almost the same.

“I already told everyone,” she finally said. “I did it. _I killed Catherine._ That's all.”

Ashleigh resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. She had expected a lot more cooperation than this. “I disagree. Look, we want to get you out of here, but if we're going to do that you really need to help us out. So just tell us what happened the night Catherine died.”

Grace looked at Ashleigh with a stony expression, but when that stare was returned, the younger woman gave in first. “Everything was normal,” she began. “We had dinner, cleaned up a little. She was working on this birdhouse, building it, like any birds were going to move in. She saw it in a magazine and thought it was cute, and she's been trying to build one ever since. She was awful at working with her hands. If she didn’t have me, there was no way she'd have managed to build the house we lived in, even with half the town helping. Would’ve either tried to put the nails in backward or we'd have been hit by a storm every other night or something. She had some of the worst luck of anyone I've ever known.” The thought brought a small smile to her face, before she buried it away again.

“Catherine and I went to bed early that night. She said she had a headache or something. I wasn’t really tired, but she's a light sleeper and I'd have kept her up otherwise. I woke up in the middle of the night and she wasn’t in bed. I saw her looking through the window with this crazy look in her eyes, like she was terrified of something. I'd never seen it before, even in all the settlement attacks. She said we had to get out of here, and started rushing me out of bed.”

Deacon interrupted the story. “Can you think of anything she might have been afraid of?”

“No, not at all. Nothing seemed strange about that night either. She's not the type to get involved in anything weird. Or that's what I thought, at least." Her voice dripped with venom on those last words, and she took a moment before she moved on. "Kind of hard to trust anything about her, after she lied to me all those years. She wasn't even fucking human, and she wouldn't tell the person she's been married to for five years, how great is that? Maybe she was into some shit, I don't know. All I know is that I trusted her then, so I went with her, but I just felt so out of it. I don't know what was wrong, things just kind of came and went in flashes, like I was on a hit of jet or something, but I wasn't. She led me out behind the brahmin pens into the woods. I don't know what happened after that, I must have passed out or something."

Ashleigh wasn't sure how to approach the question delicately, so she just let it out. "You seem pretty familiar with what jet feels like. Do you use chems often?"

Grace shot her a look between a snarl and a sneer. "No. Fuck that. But everyone's done it once, right?" Ashleigh and Deacon looked at each other for a moment, and Deacon gave an apologetic shrug while Ashleigh bit her lip slightly. _Well, she wasn't wrong._

Deacon seated himself lazily on the floor with his back against the doorway, before turning his attention back toward Grace. "So you have no idea what actually went on, but you seem pretty sure that you were the one who killed her. Do you mind filling in the blanks?"

Grace looked away from him and stared out the window for a time. The sun was starting its long summertime descent, and the world outside was illuminated in a warm gold. It seemed for a moment like Grace was gone, like she was finished telling her story and was content to just look out the window until she melted away, but she eventually spoke without turning back. "They found me in the woods beside her, with her blood on my hands and the rock that bashed her skull in, and I don't remember anything about what happened. I don't know what more you need."

"Why would you have attacked her?" Ashleigh asked. Grace winced at the question, and didn't turn away from the window to answer.

"If she were here I'd kill her again for lying to me."

Deacon spoke this time, his voice tense. "Did you know then that she was a synth?" Ashleigh could see how this dialogue was hurting him, memories of Barbara - however much truth there was to that story - barely visible beneath the surface.

She shook her head. "Not until Isaac found the robotic parts on her body. It was the same kind of thing he pulled from the ones that looked like metal skeletons when they attacked the town a while back. I can't believe she was almost the same as that. Skin on top and a monster underneath. Oh god, what if she was the one who called in the attacks?"

Ashleigh stopped her. "Synths attacked Starlight? I don't remember hearing anything about that. Usually Preston lets me know when raids happen. When was this?"

Grace thought about it for a moment. "It happened a couple times, one right after the other. It was just starting to get warm again, so maybe March or April. I don't fight. Catherine and I worked with the caravans when they came in. Ask Owen, he's in charge of the guards here. He was at the gate when they came the first time. And Isaac pulled them apart once the fight was done, he's like our handyman, and he's been really interested in robotics lately. Catherine used to work with him sometimes. She was pretty good with that kind of thing too.”

Ashleigh thought it over. It might be nothing, or it might be a lead. Maybe the Institute found out about Grace and Catherine. But then, wouldn't they have sent a courser? No reason to attack the entire settlement over two synths, a courser would have been much more efficient. There must have been some other reason for the attacks. If it was in early April, she wouldn’t have heard about it because that’s when they were at work building the signal interceptor. She made a note to ask Preston about it, when he arrived.

“Thank you, Grace,” she said. “You’ve been very helpful. If there's anything else you can think of that might help us find out what happened, please, we need to know. I want to get you out of there. We both know you didn’t kill your wife, but the person who did is still out there.”

Grace looked at her with the same disdain from earlier. “Nothing else. _And good luck with that._ Everyone already hates me for living with a synth for so long and having no idea. Or they think I knew, and that I was just keeping it a secret to protect her. Well, she fucking lied to me too, and maybe when you find the murderer you should thank them. Now get out, I’m done.”

They thanked her and made their exit, locking the door behind them. Once they reached the stairway, Ashleigh slumped against the wall and took in a deep breath, closing her eyes. Deacon took his place beside her.

“Fuck,” she whispered, breathlessly. This was just all messed up in every way she had hoped it wouldn’t be. These people were terrified of synths, for good reason, and here they were defending one against the murder of another. And the worst part was that Grace had no idea what she was. Here was the biggest shortcoming of the Railroad's methods: This synth has no idea what she was because of her fabricated memories, and she's been tossed into a world that taught her to be afraid of her own kind. It reminded Ashleigh of Danse, and what the truth had done to him. “We can't tell her.”

Deacon searched for her hand against the wall with his own, and once he found it, laced his fingers through hers. “She'll come around, don’t worry. Things will work themselves out, they always do.”

Ashleigh squeezed his hand tighter, savoring the comfort of the touch and the warmth of him beside her. That was worth far more than any words of comfort he had ever tried to give. “Liar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a lot of exposition in this chapter, and we're getting introduced to a few of my OCs, so I hope it wasn't ever dull. I know most of you are just here for Deacon and Ash (mostly Deacon), so I promise the next chapter will be much more focused on them.


	3. Burn, burn, burn

Ashleigh was tired, and they had only been at Starlight for a couple hours. She sat down on the diner's stoop when she saw Dogmeat come running up to her, and greeted him with scratches when he placed himself beside her. Deacon stepped outside and lit a cigarette.

Mental checklist time. It was well into the evening now, probably around seven, so there wasn’t much more they would be able to do with the day as far as questioning witnesses. Hopefully Preston would show up tomorrow so she could ask him about the attacks. There were a few names she recalled which she would have to look into: Isaac, Owen, Betsy. Grace and Catherine worked with the caravans, so she would have to ask around about any that arrived before the murder. None of these were leads exactly, but at least they gave her an idea of where to look.

Of course, the entire investigation was moot unless they could convince Grace to _stop telling everyone she definitely killed her wife_. The woman seemed entirely determined to make this investigation even harder than it needed to be. Shock, anger, and betrayal probably played a large part in that and she should really be more empathetic about such things, but everything about that conversation had gotten on Ashleigh's nerves regardless. She saw too much of herself when she had first exited the vault in Grace's demeanor, and it frightened her. The person she was before the bombs and the person she became were entirely different, and that in-between period of grief and confusion seemed so sickeningly weak that any reminder of it made her afraid she still had a part of that in her, that perhaps if her world fell apart again she would return to that shell of herself.

She looked over at Deacon, but he paid her no mind. She knew that under the sunglasses he was looking around, taking in every bit of his surroundings, even though he appeared relaxed. Maybe he'd catch something she didn’t.

She couldn’t help but notice the way his posture accentuated the length of his lean body. She hated how her eyes would pick up on these things about him lately. Before, she had found him attractive in a perfectly academic way, but it was getting harder and harder to convince her body that they would not be picking up where they left off the night of the party. There was no such thing as sex with no stings attached between friends, and she doubted that either of them had it in them to actually bring feelings into a relationship anymore.

Deacon turned towards her at some point while she was starting at him, and she tried to play it off as her simply checking to see if he was ready to go. She stood, and he followed by stomping out his cigarette. Break time over. Time to return the key to Levi.

\---

Levi was right where they had left him, tidying up his shop.

“How'd it go?” he asked them loudly.

Deacon grinned and answered, “About as well as you'd expect for someone who's been locked in a storage closet for days. Unresponsive. Pissed off. In great need of a stiff drink, probably. Speaking of, where do people go to blow off steam at the end of the day here?” Typical Deacon – bars were a great place to get intel without anybody catching on, as long as you could hold your alcohol better than the rest of them (or knew the sleight of hand to make them think you could).

Levi gave it a thought before declaring with a big smile, “Me and some of the guys get together and play cards sometimes. How ‘bout I call them down later and you two join us!” Ashleigh doubted that playing cards with the shopkeeper and his “guys” would lead to a tremendous revelation in the case, but they probably weren’t getting anywhere with the rest of the night anyways. The distraction was welcome.

“Sure thing,” she answered for them. “One thing first though – do you have anywhere around town for us to stay, while were here? I don't know how long this is going to take.” She just hoped for a clean bed. Few of the new settlements had inns of any sort, but Starlight was about as likely to have one as any.

“Oh, can't believe I forgot! We don’t have an inn, but we do have an open spot in the common house. Nothing like what you're used to, I’m sure, but it's got a bed and a desk, and the door even locks. Although… you two, eh, don’t mind sharing a room, right?”

Ashleigh and Deacon exchanged quick smiles. They were no strangers to sleeping in tight quarters together. At least here they likely wouldn’t be under constant threat of danger like some of the abandoned buildings they had to hold up in during rad storms sometimes. They also weren’t unfamiliar with the connotations that came from them sharing a room, although there was nothing to be done about that. “No problem. Who do I talk to about the keys? Oh, by the way, here's the key to Grace's cell.” Ashleigh handed him the lone key, but he held up his hands in response.

“It's probably better that you keep it, in case you need to ask her any more questions.” He then turned around to rummage through a drawer under the register, easily reaching around the top of the counter to get there. He dropped a second key into her hand. “And here's the room key. Common house is the big one down to the left, this room’s in the far corner. While you two get settled I'll get the boys and meet you at the bar.”

They thanked him and followed his directions to the common house. The room was small, though probably larger than the others due to it being in the corner. An east-facing window with light fabric as an excuse for curtains meant they wouldn’t sleep late, at least. A desk sat under the window, and at the other wall a double bed adorned with thin blankets. Ashleigh dropped her backpack on the floor and sat on the bed with a slight bounce, pleased that the mattress was only somewhat squeaky.

“Alright, how do you want to play this at the bar?” she asked Deacon, who was carefully examining all corners of the room. He brought his boot down on a wandering bug before turning towards her.

“We don’t know whose going to be there, but if they've got any info we need to be on our feet to catch it. Don’t push, we're just there to make friends as far as they can tell. Stay alert and pay attention to your instincts, just like the usual. Try not to get hammered, but I guess if you want to put on a show of it, be my guest.”

Just like old times, the two of them undercover, chasing intel. She usually liked to follow Deacon's lead on such matters. She could play a scene, but she always put too much of herself into it. She could never slip into an entirely different mind quite like her partner could, and hers was all too loud at all the wrong times. She took comfort in the fact that they weren’t truly undercover here, but another part of her was exhausted by the worries that had been plaguing her lately.

She fell back onto the mattress and let her arms stretch out to either side, her hair fanning out from her head in a golden spotlight. “Am I allowed to win at cards?”

Deacon suddenly appeared above her, standing at the side of the bed and looking down at where she lay. “For Levi assuming I’m the general instead of you, you are totally encouraged to win all their caps.” She smiled brightly at the words before springing up, narrowly avoiding bashing her forehead into his as she sat.

\---

The place was empty, save for Levi and his friends at one table near the bar. Levi extended a large hand to wave as he saw them enter (as if they wouldn't be able to find him otherwise in this busy establishment). “General! Get a drink and grab a seat!”

Deacon looked towards the bar, where an older man busily wiped down a glass. “What's good?” he asked the bartender.

The bartender smiled, and in a smooth voice shouted, “None of it! The whiskey's a new shipment though, how about I pour you two some?”

Deacon nodded the affirmative and thanked the bartender. Whiskey was never a favorite of Ashleigh's; she only ever drank it when she wanted to get absolutely shitfaced, which was definitely not the goal here. She also was never quite as good at Deacon at subtly pouring it elsewhere when he pretended to take a drink, so she was just going to have to be careful. She was no lightweight – if she could handle some of it and pretend to be a lot more drunk than she was, the others would probably let her off the hook. As much as she wanted to just be one of the guys for the night and drink them all under the table (she knew she could take Deacon, at least), it was more important to get any information they might have. Plus, she was an emotional drunk. And kind of handsey.

The thought brought back memories of poker nights with Nate and his army friends. She was no card shark despite her boasts, but she could keep up with them in drink and wit. She enjoyed surprising them with the sharp edge she hid under the looks and demeanor of a loving housewife. Her parents once told Nate that they hoped he could tame her – if anything, she had been the one to tame him to her own wild ways.

Funny that the most valuable thing to come out of their relationship in retrospect had been when he taught her how to shoot.

She was pulled from her bitter reminiscence when Levi introduced them to their other drinking partners. In what was perhaps the first stroke of luck of the day, Owen, the head of security who Grace had mentioned, was among them. He was tall and sturdy, though less of a giant than Levi. His dirty blonde hair was trimmed short and spiked at the front, and his brown eyes sparkled with a boyish charm. He was exactly the kind of guy Ashleigh would have been all over in her college days. Also with them were Ralphy, a timid young thing who looked like a breeze would break him in half, and Wes, another member of the town guard built like a log.

Levi explained the game. It was a local creation that to Ashleigh seemed to be a combination of pinochle and euchre, with the players on teams betting on the points their partner held. Ashleigh shot Deacon an amused look – wordless communication was something they both excelled in.

The game started out rough as they struggled to get used to the rules. It turned out that, despite his timid appearance, Ralphy was sharp as a knife and able to call out bluffs with deadly accuracy. He and Wes easily took the first game, with Wes happily declaring, “This is why I always call the kid for my team!”

By the third game, team Death Bunnies began recouping some of their losses. Ashleigh was dealt a killer hand, and communicated such to Deacon through coded suggestions tucked into conversation after she noticed that Ralphy was quick to pick up on facial expressions but a bit slow on the words coming out of peoples’ mouths.

By the fourth game, Ashleigh was nearly finished with her drink and had started to play the drunk card, starting with a loud, slurred declaration of, “I wish I didn’t have to do this damn investigation and could just keep on stealing your caps the whole time I’m here.”

Wes snickered at that. “You haven’t won yet, little lady. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve yet.”

Owen chimed in with, “After her last couple of hands, we'll be betting our pants soon enough.”

Ashleigh turned toward the man beside her and gave him a cheeky look. “Just can't wait to take your clothes off for me, huh?” _Jesus Christ, did she just say that?_

Owen looked over at Deacon nervously, who jokingly responded, “She turns into a dirty old man when she's drunk, just go with it.”

Ashleigh sighed loudly for dramatic effect before saying, “If this whole murder weren’t so fucked up I wouldn’t have to get drunk. Synths, _really_? I thought they were all supposed to be gone with the Institute!”

Ralphy piped up, his high pitched voice carrying as loud as Ashleigh's despite his quieter tone. “I wish they were. I don't want any more attacks.”

Levi put a comforting hand on Ralphy’s shoulder. “They're done now, and don’t you worry about nothin' when we have people like Owen and Wes looking after the town.”

Owen's expression darkened. “I do what I can, but there's not much we can do when they're hidden in the town, pretending to be normal people.”

Levi straightened up at Owen's comment. In what seemed to be an effort on his part not to shout, for once, he said, “Nothing wrong with them if all they want is to be people. Catherine was a nice girl. Helped everybody who needed it. I wouldn’t wish what happened to her on anybody good as that, synth or no.”

Deacon looked at Ashleigh, and she gave him a confirmation that they were having the same thought. If Levi was a sympathizer, he might be able to help them get Grace out of trouble and out of town. Even better that he seemed to have the respect and influence to do it. And the more Owen said against synths, the more suspicious he looked. 

Owen's voice was laced with venom when he looked at Levi and said, “You just didn't know when she was going to turn on all of us, but it was coming, I can guarantee it. You can't trust someone with a computer for a brain. That's all a synth is - a program waiting to do what it was made to do.” Ralphy continued to look terrified at everyone, like he was expecting that at any moment one of them would shed their human skin and reveal the robot inside. Owen and Levi only stared at each other with furrowed brows.

“What if what they were made to do was be human?” Levi asked, his voice low and deep.

Owen answered him with a sharpness that said his mind would not be changed. “They're not.”

Ashleigh decided that she had definitely seen enough here. They'd have a chat with Levi later for sure, and maybe see what others thought about Owen. If there was anything he was hiding, she'd find a way to make him slip up. She laughed her brightest laugh full of bells and cheer, while also placing a hand idly over Owen's. “Hey, this is way too much like the work I’m trying to get away from! Deal us out another game, Wes!”

Owen and Levi continued to hold each other's glare, until Levi amicably turned toward Wes and handed him the deck of cards in a heavy motion. Owen, meanwhile, let the glare fall from his face as he looked down at Ashleigh's hand over his and gave her a small smile, which she returned. She noticed Deacon raise an eyebrow at her across the table, which she returned with a subtle wink. She was working, under the assumption that flirting with the attractive head of security (who had, admittedly, become much less attractive after his bigoted words) would help build a bit of trust with him. If not, it did seem to make him a bit nervous, judging by how he took a heavy drink from a fresh beer after she let his hand free, and that has a tendency to make people slip up as well.

The games continued like before, though everyone was beginning to lose their edge due to alcohol and some lingering tension from the argument. After winning their third game in a row, Ashleigh dramatically exclaimed, “And that’s why you're my favorite, Dee!”

Deacon replied easily in his own buzzed drawl, “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you here, sweetheart.” Ashleigh smiled at him mischievously, and startled somewhat when she felt a hand - Owen's – brush and settle on her thigh beneath the table. Deacon clearly noticed this contact from his vantage point across the table, and gave her a sideways smile. If sex was a weapon, then jealousy was a nuke. If they managed to play their cards right, she was pretty sure she would be able to have the guard wrapped around her fingers at the cost of only a slight loss of dignity.

Ashleigh giggled low and suggestively, and staring at Deacon beneath her eyelashes said, “I don’t think you have to worry about disappointing me _anywhere_.” As she spoke, she used her free hand to ghost over the top of Owen's hand on her thigh, lacing her fingers through his. It seemed clear that no one else noticed the touch under the table, as all eyes were either turned toward Deacon knowingly, or, in Ralphy’s case, awkwardly at the table.

This was what they were best at, these extravagant scenes. Deacon could do the deep cover, become someone new for as long as he needed, but Ashleigh was much more adept at these short little shows, playing at being perfect while they both shared a wonderful in-joke and bathed in the attention. Tomorrow, they could brush it all aside, pretend that it was the alcohol talking if necessary, but tonight they were lovers and stars, and they would burn up to get the information they wanted. She relished in the temporary escape from reality, and used it to push the ever-persistent doubt and lingering memories of a different world further through the haze.

They continued playing for another two games, during which Ashleigh and Deacon emerged modest winners, though they had clearly made the biggest gains of the night. During those games, Ashleigh and Owen continued their own contest under the table, with his hand drawing closer and closer to her center while she pretended to push him away. She tried not to enjoy it, but the truth was it had been a long time since she had gotten attention like this, even if she was playing him. She almost, _almost_ , thought about Nate used to do the same to her under the table when he thought no one was watching.

Finally, Ashleigh declared, “The General is drunk and tired. You have all fought valiantly, but it appears,” she paused, looking down at her pile of caps, “that the Minutemen emerge victorious tonight.”

The group stood, and said their goodbyes with sloppy handshakes and pats on the back. Deacon was almost knocked off his feet by a particularly heavy slap from Levi, who, as he had predicted, seemed to have taken quite a liking to him.

Meanwhile, Ashleigh made a point of stumbling out of her bar chair, only to be caught by Owen. She giggled at their proximity. He leaned down in an effort to balance her, and in a low whisper against her ear said, “I hope I'll see you around before you leave.”

She turned towards him sloppily so that her lips barely grazed his cheek and whispered, “Maybe with less of a crowd next time.”

Deacon appeared beside her right on cue, and put a supporting arm around Ashleigh's waist, giving Owen a pointed look until he passed her weight off to him. They exchanged nods and polite goodbyes with a noticeable edge to them, after which Deacon led her out of the bar.

The stairs down would have been difficult if she was actually as drunk as she pretended to be, but as it was both of them only stumbled slightly as Ashleigh took most of her weight on her own, letting Deacon hang on largely for show. As soon as they reached their room in the common house they separated, leaning against the door in exhaustion and sharing a quiet laugh at the experience. Coming down from the high of fooling people into singing to their tune was exhilarating in its own way.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and soaked up his warmth. He smelled like whiskey and smoke, just like those poker nights so long ago had. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed them. _No, stop_. Why did these memories keep coming to her today? She thought she had buried the ghost of her husband. She was tired of fighting the remnants of a dead world. She took in another deep breath. He smelled like Deacon, _her Deacon,_ like the here and now. No more Nate, no more poker nights, no more Shaun, no more Ashleigh the lawyer. No more.

“You really had him going, didn’t you?” Deacon said with amusement in his voice. The sound of it pulled her back.

“He's a bit too young and a bit too much of an asshole for me, unfortunately, or I'd have gotten laid tonight.” She let out a dramatic sigh for effect. “But, alas, I’m stuck here with you,” she said, though the tingling low in her stomach that she so often tried to ignore argued that she was exactly where she wanted to be.

“And here I remember you saying that  _I couldn't disappoint you anywhere_.” Though she couldn’t see behind the sunglasses, she was sure he raised an eyebrow in challenge.

She knew they were about to cross a dangerous point of no return, one they had both been carefully treading for some time. She didn’t care. Just this once, she needed him to be her anchor.

“Actually, that remains to be proven.” A sly smile slid across her face as she spun herself to stand in front of him, drinking in the proximity. This teasing had to end, one way or another. If they were going to do this, it had to be tonight while they were both aware enough to enjoy it and drunk enough to pretend like it had never happened the next day. She pushed herself against him to run her nose along his jaw. She felt him shiver underneath her in response as he turned his head to give her more to work with. She whispered in his ear, her voice low and soft. “Why don’t we find out?”

She felt his breath emerge unsteadily, blowing across her hair. “I'm not usually one to back down from a challenge.” He brought his hands to pull her hips towards him, but through this proximity she could feel the increasing tension in his body.

“I can be pretty hard to please,” she whispered to him again, taking his earlobe into her mouth with the final word.

There was an uncertainty in his uneven breaths, even as she felt him melt into her touch. She was afraid she had gone too far, that maybe all the flirting had just been for fun. He was as broken as she was – more, even. Of course she couldn’t expect him to give her any of himself when he kept it all so carefully guarded. “Hey,” she said, pulling herself away enough to look at his face as she spoke. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

He looked down, but continued to hold onto her, his thumbs rubbing nonsense patterns on her hipbones. “This is absolutely something I want, cross my heart and hope to die,” he said, but she could still see the worry in his face that even his humor couldn't hide.

“Then don't worry about what it means. It'll all go away in the morning, but _right now we could be amazing_.” She realized she was almost pleading with him. The worries he had she shared; if she were to lose him now, she would truly have nothing left, and in this broken world where she didn’t belong her last fear was to be left alone again. Even stronger was the wish that, just for tonight, if she could forget the world she wanted to do it in his arms. “Please don't ask me why I need this.”

She thought he would push her away. She fully expected him to disappear at any moment, because even at this distance and after all this time, holding him felt like grasping at smoke. In a hushed voice, he asked, “What do you want me to do?”

How could she even answer that question? She wanted all of him, everywhere. All that he was willing to give she would receive and return in kind. He could take her wildly against the wall right now, or as slow and gentle as they both could handle because she didn’t need to sleep; she didn't care as long as he filled the empty space she was feeling inside her body. She wanted to forget time, forget her name, forget everything except how he looked beneath her. _What did she want him to do?_

_“Everything.”_

He surprised them both by pulling her back into him, crushing their mouths together. She asked for entry and he granted willingly, their tongues playing games not unfamiliar but so unlike the little wars usually fought between them.

“That's a pretty tall request,” he said with a small grin when they came up for air. She smiled into his neck at the words. “You weren’t kidding when you said you wouldn’t make it easy on me.”

How very Deacon of him to keep cracking jokes despite their proximity, despite her fingers on his chest as she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. “Fine. Start with less talk, less clothes.”

He hummed low and rough in agreement. She freed him from his shirt, and helped him to make quick work of her own. As he lifted her shirt over her head and arms he swung his weight to reverse their positions, leaving her pinned between him and the door. She made a low moan of approval when he pressed more of his weight into her and began sucking at her neck. His sunglasses dug into the skin around her jaw. She reached for them, and he stiffened for a moment while allowing her to slide them off and toss them aside. He was unmasked; it wasn’t the first time that she had seen his eyes, but the intimacy of the action was not lost on her. She reveled in how beautifully, deliciously _real_ he was in that moment, and all for her. She could drink the moment in forever if her body wasn’t screaming for more.

She struggled against his weight to get access to the buttons of their pants. Hers were quickly dealt with, but she struggled with his as he squirmed under her touch. She rubbed at his erection through his jeans until his body loosened and she was able to spin them around again. His body slammed into the door so that the hinges creaked. She loved the look of surprise mixed with need in his deep blue eyes. She held his gaze as she slid herself down, down, onto her knees so she had a better view to remove his jeans.

She nipped at the skin above the waistband while she worked the button. Sliding his pants down, she took the opportunity to run the tip of her nose over the bulge in his underwear. He tipped his head back into the door and let out a long, shaky breath. She played with the elastic before sliding his underwear off with a low hum of approval. He laced his fingers through her hair expectantly; she accepted the invitation and greedily swallowed him down. She moved slowly, every motion drawing out moans needier and needier. His eyes were closed and his body slumped slightly, but his hand in her hair remained firm, pulling slightly whenever she teasingly slowed the pace.

Deacon tried to compose himself, but Ashleigh was determined not to make it easy for him. In an unsteady voice he managed to force out, “You're not going to let me have all the fun, are you?” She slid her mouth off him slowly, taking the time to run her tongue around the head and through his slit. _“Fuck,_ Ash…” he gasped as he slammed his head back against the door.

“Then what do you suggest? Or should I just keep going?” She smiled mischievously as he rolled his neck to look down at her.

“I could think of a thousand things to do with your mouth and none of them sound bad right now, so why don’t you come back up here before I have to start naming them off and embarrass both of us.” His words came breathless and fast, and she could tell it was all he could do to keep his composure. She loved having this power over him.

“I bet I could shut you back up,” she said in a whisper, bringing her mouth back to his cock.

 _“Shit, Ash,”_ he sputtered as she played with him, and she lapped up every word of it hungrily. “Just get up here so I can fuck you right, preferably sometime before I come in your mouth, please.” His last word was drawn out into a long, half moan as she released him again.

She stood, stepping around him unsteadily as her knees popped from the sudden extension. He grabbed her at the waist and turned her around so her back was against the wall this time. Some other time, she probably would have found their constant fighting for dominance funny, but the solid intensity of his eyes, those secrets only for her, staring into her own quieted any joke she might have had.

She shivered as she felt his fingertips ghost down her stomach, lingering over her hip teasingly, before coming back up to firmly cup her bra. She inhaled sharply at the touch, and arched her back so he had easier access to unclasp it. It was clear that he was a bit out of practice at that as he fumbled over the hooks with one hand. She laughed softly as he brought a second hand behind her back to help. “Hey, don't make fun,” he warned, finally succeeding at the clasp and pulling the straps off her arms. “These things?” he held the bra between them. “Pinnacle of prewar tech.” He threw the bra haphazardly to the side, and brought both his hands up to cup her breasts roughly. She moaned hungrily at his touch. “Worth it.”

She arched herself into him as he kneaded her breasts and pressed wet kisses along her collarbone. Her soft moans encouraged his explorations. He bit down on a sensitive spot harder than was comfortable, and she returned by scraping her fingernails deep and rough down his back, to which he practically purred.

This action picked up the urgency. He pressed himself flush against her and crushed their mouths together. She bit at his lip as he finally brought his hands down to slide off her underwear. His finger sliding between her creases slowly and deliberately sent white hot chills low down her spine. She melted into his touch as her knees grew weak with pleasure. _“Jesus, fuck, Dee,”_ she mumbled nonsense, trying to collect herself. “Let's take this over there, yeah?” she gestured wildly towards the bed.

He obliged, leading her quietly around the front of the bed. Once they approached it, she reached out towards him, pushing him onto the mattress with a huff of surprise. When he tried to sit up, she crawled on top of him, seductively biting her lip. He laid his head back down and closed his eyes as she rolled her hips over him. She took him in her hand to guide his erection inside her. Both of them let out little cries as he slid in. She adjusted herself on top of him before she set the pace. His hands at her hips demanded more, but she willed herself to take it slow, enjoying the feeling of him filling her with every pump.

She scratched her nails down his chest, lighter than before, as she quickened the pace. He brought a finger to her clit as she rode him, and she moaned desperately, her sounds blending with his in the rhythm of their sex. She could tell from his breaths that he was close. She dug her nails into the soft skin of his sides to anchor herself.

The sounds he made when he came were almost criminally erotic, echoing across the room in a breathless mash of moaning, swearing, and calling out her name. Later she would cherish the fact that Deacon, master spy and man of the shadows, was the loudest man she had ever taken to bed, but in that moment all she could do was keep the pace and let her senses take in every detail of the moment, from the sensation of his warm juices spilling inside her to the way he called out her name like a prayer. If she wasn’t close already, hearing that intimate need in his voice, a need for _her,_ pushed her over the edge. She bucked into him once, twice, gasping, letting him guide her with rough hands through the aftershocks.

She collapsed onto his chest, spent. His arm around her brushed the hair out of her face as she looked over at him. There were no words between them that needed to be said, so together they laughed the laugh they always shared when coming down from an undercover assignment. In the morning when she woke up beside him, their naked limbs tangled in obscene perfection, she would tell herself that’s exactly what they had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a filthy, filthy sinner, and if you try to tell me differently I'll show you the other three drafts of that scene before I got it right. And they almost had feelings.
> 
> For those of you who are here for the mystery rather than the porn, I promise that everything that happened in this chapter was very important. The background is finally out there - now just sit back and wait for the surprises.


	4. Their own lonesome familiarity

The soft light of the sun barely creeping over the horizon between the trees woke Ashleigh and Deacon together. They both stayed silent and still for a time, neither wanting to be the first to move, as if it would somehow give weight to the reality they found themselves in. Ashleigh felt heavy and sluggish as she enjoyed the warmth from Deacon's naked skin on hers, but the uncertainty of the situation kept her from truly enjoying it.  

Deacon was the first to rise, springing up suddenly and going to retrieve his clothes. Sunglasses first, then the rest. As was his way, Ashleigh supposed. She rolled over and spread out slightly on the now empty bed, but her return to sleep was cut violently short as she was struck by the pile of her own clothes which Deacon tossed at her. She groaned loudly and threw one of the pieces back at him blindly – she could tell by the soft flop of fabric on the wall that she missed.  

“Up and at ‘em,” came Deacon's voice, far too chipper. “The early bird catches the worm! Uh… it's morning and we have a job to do? I'm out of idioms, just get up please.” 

Ashleigh smiled despite herself, pleased that he was doing his best to at least pretend as if nothing was different despite the manner in which they found themselves waking up. "Fuck off, Dee," she said weakly as she made an effort to upright herself. She looked at the clothes he had tossed her, and, deciding them unfit for the day, threw them aside and started rummaging through her pack. A sleeveless shirt and light jeans, perfect for the hot summer day that it was already shaping up to be. As she dressed, she asked Deacon, "So, what's first? I'm thinking we find this Isaac guy that Catherine used to work with, see if he noticed anything strange going on." 

Deacon put his hand to his chin in a dramatic show of consideration. "I don't know about that. I think your new friend Owen might be worth a closer examination," he said, looking at Ashleigh pointedly.  

"Hilarious." 

"Thanks," he beamed. "For the record, my money's on him anyways." 

Ashleigh thought it over for a moment. "He's an ass, yeah, but I don't think he did it. What motive would the captain of security have for _hiding_ the fact that he saved the town from the big bad synth spy?" 

"They didn't know she was a synth until Isaac found the components on her body," he countered. 

"Yeah, but then what motive would he have? We know he hates synths, but if he didn't know she was a synth he wouldn't have any reason to kill her, and if he did then he wouldn't have kept it a secret." 

"Point taken. I still don't like him." 

"That's apparent." Ashleigh pulled some snack cakes out of her pack and tossed one to Deacon. "Healthy breakfast, eat up." She enjoyed that the physical lifestyle of living in the wastes meant that she could eat whatever she wanted without worry. Too bad it was all two hundred years stale. "Isaac, then?" 

Deacon mumbled an affirmative around a bite of snack cake.  

* * *

After asking around, they were pointed towards a workshop underneath the old drive-in screen. They were pleased to see the town much more lively than the day before; a caravan arrival likely played no small part. The town was awake, hurriedly rushing items and people back and forth between the various locations of interest. The trade activities were modest, but they were modest in a way that still signaled a prosperity rarely seen outside the walled cities. Dogmeat followed around a newly arrived caravan, nipping at the heels of the brahmin and bouncing along beside the caravaneer.  

Ashleigh and Deacon stepped inside the cement building beneath the theater screen. Once upon a time, this place served as an administrative space for the theater, where the film was stored and money was counted. It was probably once filled with bookcases and desks, rarely used but vital to operations. Today, it looked like something straight out of the kind of bad sci-fi film that the theater had been known for - both out of place and oddly fitting, Ashleigh mused. The room was lit with a dim lighting masked by blue shades, and shoddy tables and counters were covered in partially assembled weaponry and devices of unknown utility. On one laid the disassembled skeleton of a Gen-2, its circuitry splaying out of its head through a scorched bullet hole, with various other pieces removed with careful precision.  

"Well, this is nice. We should be sure to get decorating tips from this guy while we're here," Deacon quipped. At his voice, a sudden bang, followed by a clatter and the sound of falling tools came from the corner of the room.  

"Fucking hell kid, learn to knock!" came a gravely yell from that corner. Ashleigh looked over a table to see a man with unkempt black hair and a surprisingly well manicured short beard crawl from a mattress underneath a counter. He rubbed a spot on the top of his head which must have been the source of the noise. He looked up at the pair and stilled, eyebrow raised in pointed confusion. "Umm, can I help you find the way out?" 

Ashleigh snorted in amusement. "Isaac, I take it?" 

"Depends on why you're asking and when you're leaving."  

"Maybe you've heard of General Weathers? That's her, not me, I'm nobody important." Deacon made a show of pointing over his shoulder at Ashleigh, who rolled her eyes.  

Ashleigh spoke up. “We're investigating Catherine's murder, and your name came up a couple of times. I understand she worked with you?” 

Isaac sighed audibly and looked around the room as he flattened his messy hair with one hand. Was this nervousness or annoyance? Ashleigh hoped that Deacon could catch the difference. She had never been the best with body language. 

“You mean the synth? Yeah, she spent a lot of time here, sabotaging my research. If you're here to ask if I had any idea what she was, then the answer is no, or I wouldn’t have had her working with me to figure out how these things tick. She lied to me just as much as she lied to everyone else.” He picked up the limp hand of the Gen-2 on the table next to him and dropped it haphazardly, causing a loud jingle of scrap metal on countertop that made Ashleigh cringe.  

“And what research is that? I'm interested,” she asked, approaching the table to look down at the disassembled synth more closely. She wondered what thoughts went through this one's synthetic mind before it was shot down. Do they think, feel, like the newer models? How much of its mind was metal, and was there room for consciousness? More importantly, how upset would it have been to know that it's body would go to enable the research of a small town hipster scientist with a bad attitude? 

Isaac chuckled and answered, “No, you're not, you just want to find out if I had any reason to kill her or not. It's ok, I'll entertain you.” _Charming._ “Usually, we helped maintain things around town, like the water purifiers and the security lights. Cat only worked on some days when there wasn't a caravan arrival. That was her _actual_ job, she just did this as a hobby and apparently to _completely ruin my research."_ He raised his voice for emphasis as if the intent were not clear enough already. 

Ashleigh smiled expectantly, willing him to actually get to the point and answer the question. She wasn't good with this sort of personality. Not at all. She hoped her patience would hold long enough for him to get to his alibi. Beside her, Deacon nonchalantly played with a loose screw on the synth's elbow joint as if he were not at all bothered by any of this. Of course, he had never been in the "crash test dummies are people too" camp like many of the other members of the Railroad, but the casual way he held himself despite the circumstances and despite the infuriating man in front of them was enviable. She tried to imagine how he found this level of composure, but that train of thought only led her to think about how little composure he had the night before, and that was _absolutely not_ a thought she had time to entertain at the moment. 

Isaac started rummaging around in the scrap behind him, pulling Ashleigh back to reality. "Here!" he said excitedly as he set a small device vaguely reminiscent of a hair dryer on an empty space atop the surface between them. 

"And this is...?" Deacon asked, poking at the wiring in back cautiously. Isaac slapped his hand away and Deacon gave an expression of mock offense. 

"Nothing, probably," Isaac answered with a sigh. "What it was supposed to be was a device that sends a signal that interrupts the, uh, _signals_ that run the synths. The tech in this toaster is crazy advanced. I have no idea how the synths actually run, but I _do_ know computers, and I know that somewhere down there is a CPU telling the thing exactly what to do and how. So, what if they pick up a different type of signal, like some completely nonsense instructions. What happens? To be honest, I have no idea, because this thing still isn't working, but my best guess is that things will start going a little haywire. And what do computers do when their processing power is overloaded? Well, that depends, but usually they try to reboot. And, there we go - a disabled synth." 

Ashleigh thought it over for a moment. The idea wasn't unfeasible, but it was highly unlikely. "Alright, I get it. But you do realize how much more advanced the processors in these synths are than your terminal over there. How do you know you'd be able to overload it effectively?" 

Isaac shrugged. "I don't, not at all. Really, this thing is part EMP, part that little whistling thing pre-war hackers did to get free phone service. I have a book..." he offered excitedly, but Ashleigh waved her hand dismissively. "Look, obviously it didn't work since I literally _had a synth working on it_ and nothing happened to her. Well, nothing when I was around, at least." 

Deacon spoke up this time. “Did she ever say anything like ‘Hey, I really don’t want to work on the synth genocide today?’ Anything at all to suggest she was working against you?" 

Isaac looked down at the broken synth in thought. "Nothing. She might've suggested that she wasn't interested in all this fighting, but that's just who she was. Cat was too _good_ to be involved in times like this."  

"That's the second time you've called her Cat," Deacon said. "I don't think anyone else has called her by a nickname. You seem pretty familiar with her." 

Isaac's face turned into a half smile, bitter in how much it was forced. "Well, yeah. She worked with me for a long time. Some days she was the only other person I talked to. She might've been absolutely useless with building and repairing things, but she was full of ideas and theory. She was brilliant." His voice trailed off, and he bit at his lips, playing at the right words to say. He ran his fingers over the burn mark on the Gen-1 between them almost gently, a sad smile playing at his lips. "I think, if none of this would have happened, I'd have been happy working with her as long as she wanted, even if she kept ruining my work. It probably wasn’t getting anywhere anyways. Things would've been a lot better if I had never seen that fucking synth component on her. Yeah, she lied. It was a good lie." 

Ashleigh gave him a puzzled expression. "I think you're the first person around her to say something like that." 

"Everyone else seems to have forgotten that she was the best person in this goddamn town." His voice had a tone of finality. "Are you done?" 

Ashleigh put her hands up in surrender as she spoke. "Look, we're not trying to accuse you of anything. We just want to find out who did this, so if you have any information that can help, _please,_ we need to know." 

He ran a hand through his hair, roughing it up once again. He looked away as he spoke. "I'm sorry, it just kind of feels like I'm the only one who misses her, and it's my fault. I'm the one who noticed what she was. She should've died a human, but of course I couldn't let her." 

Ashleigh caught his eyes with an apologetic stare. "You were in love with her." 

He silently moved his lips around, testing the words out on his tongue before he spoke. "Not that it meant anything, for about a dozen reasons including but not limited to the fact that _she_ had a _wife._ So it goes." 

"Did she know?" 

"Probably. It took you all of, what, ten minutes to notice? I hope she appreciated the irony of it, because I sure don't." He sighed, taking the prototype disabler and putting it in its place behind him. "I want to help, but I really don't know anything. We talked, sure, but she never mentioned anything about being afraid or worried, not any more than anyone else was. These last few months have been rough on everybody." 

Ashleigh and Deacon both nodded solemnly. Ashleigh wanted to believe him, and she imagined that Deacon did as well. In the end, too many people had been hurt, and still continued to be hurt, by the Institute, but every person who realized that the synth next door wasn't so bad was another step in the right direction, even if it had to come about through tragedy. A distant part of her told her that she understood how Isaac was feeling more than she could admit at the surface - at the very least, she knew how it felt to see someone you love taken from you. For that very reason, she hesitated to ask the question that needed to be asked. "So, when you saw the body you found the synthetic components in her. Nobody else noticed that, and I know you weren't the first to see the body. Can you tell me about that?" 

He grimaced, and scratched at the front of his head before nodding. "Alright, yeah. They called me over because, you know, I'm like the robot expert around here, and the only danger we've seen in a long time has been from the synths. So, they had me checking out the body," he paused, pursing his lips as he looked down, remembering the scene. "She'd been bludgeoned on the head by something small and uneven, you could tell because it had dug in deeper in places. The Institute... they really didn't skimp on the blood in these things. I think that's why no one noticed before, there was so much blood everywhere. They found a bloody rock nearby, I guess that was the murder weapon. I was trying to get a better look at the wound to see if it looked like burns from a laser pistol, and, you know, clean her up a little. That's when I saw the wiring. The kind of wound that she had... That doesn't happen on accident. Whoever did that swung with the intent to kill her."  

"Who was with you at the time?" 

"Old Betsy and Owen. I think Betsy was the one who first found her. Levi had taken Grace away to ask her about what happened. Owen wanted me to keep the body so I could work on dissecting it and figure out how they work, what they're made of. _Fuck that._ We buried her." He shifted uncomfortably and resumed biting at the inside of his cheek. Nervous habit, maybe? If looking miserable and chewing on himself were his tells then he was a terrible liar, so Ashleigh chose to believe his words.  

"Is that it?" he asked with no small amount of impatience. She figured she had put him through enough. 

"Yeah, thanks, Isaac. If you think of anything else that might help, please, let us know."  

They nodded and set out, thanking him again as they exited. The whole thing reminded her a bit of what happened with Danse and the Brotherhood, except instead of Catherine having to live with the truth, that burden was left to everyone who loved her, all these people left wondering if she had been lying to them all along. Wondering why. She wished she could tell them the truth, that Catherine had escaped the Institute and had no idea anymore that she was a synth, but she knew that would only lead to more problems. Some of them wouldn't believe her, and there was no telling the magnitude of witch hunts that would happen if people knew there were synths around that didn't even know if they were synths themselves. No, this was best, even if it hurt.  

 Once outside, Ashleigh was about to ask Deacon for his opinion on Isaac, but when she turned towards him she saw a familiar figure standing against the door to the workshop.  

"Hey," Ralphy greeted them in his meek voice. He was leaned with his back against the wall beside the door, adorned in a hat much too large for his head to hide his eyes from the sun. His lanky limbs seemed barely able to support his frame at this angle.  

"Hey, kid," Deacon replied. "I hope you're not here for revenge from last night. I was holding back. I used to be a dealer in New Vegas, you know. Only way to catch a card-counter is to be better at it than them. Not that I was cheating last night, just using a natural advantage. Maybe I'll teach you someday." Ashleigh smacked him on the stomach, and he responded with an exaggerated "Ow!" 

Ralphy smiled at them, his toothy grin a perfect compliment to his lean, awkward appearance. Ashleigh could tell by his height and refinement of his features that he was in his late teens, if not older, but everything about him screamed young man trapped forever in puberty. "Thanks, but I'll get you next time," he challenged. Ashleigh and Deacon started on their way, but Ralphy reached out to grab Ashleigh's wrist as she turned. "Wait," he said. "I heard you talking to Isaac."  

They stopped and turned towards him. "What were you doing in there?" Deacon asked. 

Ralphy smiled shyly. "He's my uncle," he answered. "I help out sometimes. Not with his work, but sometimes he forgets to eat and stuff. Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that there's no way he had any part in Catherine's death." 

Ashleigh nodded at him. "I believe you, but is there anything you know that can help?" 

He shook his head, but then reconsidered. "Go talk to Betsy. She lives next door to Grace and Catherine. Sometimes she would complain about them being up all night arguing about something." 

"Is she the one with all the kids? Levi mentioned her earlier." 

Ralphy nodded. “Thanks. I was a little worried about Isaac, is all. I just want to make sure he didn’t say the wrong things and make you suspect him. He does that, but he means well.” 

“Thanks, Ralphy. If you know anything else, let us know.”  

They began walking away from the workshop. The sound of a door shutting behind them signaled Ralphy’s exit; once they determined there was no one else around, Deacon spoke softly. “Isaac's hiding something.” 

“What? What makes you say that?” Isaac's pain at Catherine – Cat’s – death seemed apparent to her.  

“Intuition, mostly. So, he spends all this time working on a weapon to disable synths, but as soon as he finds out that the completely unavailable girl he's infatuated with is one, suddenly he doesn’t mind. We could give him the benefit of the doubt, but in my experience that is the complete opposite of what usually happens. Maybe he's different, but I would expect his reaction to be more like Grace's.”  

Ashleigh thought it over. He had a point, but she deeply wanted to see the good in Isaac, despite Deacon’s misgivings. She had never entirely bought into the “you can't trust everybody” shtick, and at some level she understood what Isaac was feeling losing a loved one. “I didn’t notice any problems with his story,” she countered.  

“Until the end. Didn’t you get the sense that he wanted to hide the body? Nobody else looked at it, and he demands they bury it right away even though it could be a breakthrough in the research he's been doing. No, I don’t buy it.” 

Sometimes, Deacon really had a way with making her hate everything. This was one of those times. “Didn’t he seem too… _honest_ to be lying?” 

Deacon smiled. “That’s the trick, isn’t it? Or are you saying I don’t seem honest?” 

“Not a chance.” She laughed and casually leaned into his shoulder as they walked. She thought she felt him tense at the touch, but if he did he hid it well behind his laid-back demeanor. Despite the dark subject they discussed, to observers they probably looked like a happy couple going for an afternoon walk. As she relaxed into their closeness and pondered on what this warmth inside her meant, she thought about his words. That really is the trick, isn’t it? 

* * *

They sat side by side near a parked caravan, silently eating a lunch of squirrel meat. The meat was tough and greasy, but if she ignored the gamey texture hard enough it reminded her of duck, if the duck had spent most of its life running and had developed some very impressive duck muscles. It wasn’t a favorite, but it would do.  

Once she finished eating, she gently poked at Deacon with the stick the meat had been on. He jumped a bit at the touch; his mind had clearly been elsewhere until she poked him back to reality. For courtesy’s sake, she pretended not to notice that she had visibly startled him, and simply asked, “So, where does the investigation lead us next?” 

“You're not gonna like my plan.”  

“You are usually filled with bad ideas.” 

“Nah, this one is great, so hear me out. First, we're going to need a small family of deathclaws and some chewing gum.” She laughed freely and laid a hand on his leg. This time, he barely seemed to notice the contact. “Honestly, you're not going go like this one,” he said, all humor gone.  

“Go on. I'm feeling brave.” 

“Alright. I'll go meet with the neighbor and try to find out if our happy couple really was having problems like Ralphy said. Maybe I'll look through their house too, see if I can find anything. And you,” he said, the lead-up much more dramatically prolonged than it needed to be, “will fact-check Isaac's story with Owen.” 

“In other words, you want me to find where they buried her.” He shrugged apologetically. “Nope, I don’t like the plan.” She sighed heavily, squeezing the hand on his knee for support. “You're right, though.” 

“I love it when you say that.” He smiled warmly. “You are going to be alright, aren’t you?” 

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Are you worried about me getting uncomfortable digging up the dead girl, or at me being alone with my new admirer?” When he didn’t answer, she filled the quiet for him. “What I'm most worried about is how I'm going to play this one. The flirting thing I did last night seemed a lot more useful when we were just looking for a little inside information or maybe a fall guy. What am I going to say?” She straightened up and turned towards Deacon, whose expression was filled with amusement at her predicament.  

“Sex appeal can get you damn far if you're good enough.” 

She smiled a sideways smile, glad that the playful banter between them wasn’t gone despite what had happened last night. “And am I good enough?” she asked with a pointed flirtiness in her voice. 

“The best. After all, you've learned from the best. Not that I needed to give you much instruction in that area.” He gave her a bright smile that she couldn't help but share. They both knew exactly what he was doing, but she at least didn't mind the warm feeling inside her that this exchange had caused. She had a sudden urge to pull off his sunglasses and see if the smile reached his eyes, but she held herself back, afraid of the answer. It was always difficult to tell with him what was a performance and what was real. 

Realizing she needed to leave those uncomfortable thoughts for another time, she escaped to the self-deprecating humor which they both used to hide. “I appreciate your confidence, but this still doesn’t solve my problem. What do I say?” She cleared her throat and winked with a mischievous grin. In a husky voice, she teased, “Hey, great idea for a first date – how about the place where you buried the dead synth!” 

Deacon took the challenge, and with a low voice, all serious, “You know what really gets me in the mood? Grave robbing.” 

“I bet there's a lot of fun we can have with this shovel… after we use it to dig up the dead.” 

“I want you covered in dirt.” 

Ashleigh laughed despite her best efforts to retain her composure. “That one wasn't bad, actually.” 

“Of course it wasn't. I'm very charming.” 

She smiled warmly at him. “You have your moments.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took an entire month. It turns out starting your first big fanfic right before you begin your graduate thesis is a really bad idea. Who knew! I think I have things in order now though, so the updates should be every week or so from now on. I have some really great scenes coming up that I'm quite excited to write. Next chapter is going to be pain. I love writing pain. I think that's why I love this ship so much. _cries_
> 
> In other news, the announcement of the Far Harbor DLC is deeply amusing to me, because, I kid you not, an early draft of this fic was set on the coast of Maine. It's literally going to be the story I almost told.


	5. They build their own hells

Ashleigh and Deacon parted ways as they approached the center of town. She felt butterflies in her stomach, and not the good kind - the kind that came from being enough out of her element that she would much rather just climb under a big rock and wait for someone else to deal with everything. She was dreading talking to Owen again, partially because in retrospect she felt ridiculous for how she acted around him the night before, and more so because she felt even _more_ ridiculous that the thought of anyone at all taking an intimate interest in her just made her think about how Deacon had looked writhing under her touch. That was not a thought she needed when trying to seduce information out of another man. Or perhaps at all.  

Not that she hadn't enjoyed what happened between them, but every minute that had passed since _the event_ made it seem more and more surreal. This was not at all aided by the refusal of either of them to say anything about it, because obviously talking about your feelings gives you cancer and both of them endeavored to live very long lives. Now she was left with a thousand thoughts going through her mind at the same time about how she felt about the fact that their relationship continued to be completely, perfectly _normal,_ as if she hadn't had his dick in her mouth less than a day ago. And now she was off to have a private conversation with a man who clearly wanted into her pants, _at Deacon's suggestion,_ because nothing could ever make sense or be easy with them. Of course, leave it to them to have confusing, complicated sex when they had much bigger things to worry about so as to conveniently avoid the issue.  

Though, she supposed it _was_ her fault. 

Suddenly, Dogmeat barreled into her, knocking her out of her spiraling thoughts. "Hey, boy," she cooed, reaching down to scratch behind his ear. He nipped at her fingers as she pet him, pleased to be receiving her attention. She lowered herself to dog height to better scratch at his collar as she asked him, "Do you have any idea what the fuck I'm doing?" He cocked his head inquisitively. "No, of course you don't. But when you figure it out, you'll let me know, right boy?" Dogmeat enthusiastically licked her chin. The dog breath smelled absolutely vile, but she was happy at least that he seemed to get the message. 

"Alright, come on," she said, standing. "Do you want to go make new friends?" He excitedly straightened to attention. "Let's go then. We might even need your digging skills." The thought disgusted her, and she wished that at least had never occurred to her.  

Once she had her bearings, she led them to the guard post she had seen on the way in. She realized she didn't exactly know where to find Owen. She entertained the thought that maybe he had a night shift or something and he wasn't even going to be around, but, sure enough, near the entrance stood the unmistakeably well-built frame of the captain of security talking to one of the watchmen.  

She put on a friendly smile that she hoped didn't look like she painted it on, and approached him. "Hey, soldier. Long time, no see." 

He smiled in acknowledgement before turning back to the guard to finish his conversation. Once he was done, he fell into place beside her. "Good to see you, Ash. Couldn't get enough of me, huh?" 

She chuckled demurely, tipping her head down slightly to look up at him through her lashes like all those old fashion magazines she pretended not to read said to do. Maybe she was overselling it? She decided to cut straight to business. "Actually, I have some questions for you about the case, if you have time. Let's go for a walk." She started down a side road where she expected them to avoid interruption. Dogmeat happily pranced beside them, sniffing and licking at Owen's fingers at every opportunity. "Sorry, that's just how he meets people. By eating them." 

Owen scratched at the dog's head. "Oh, believe me, I know. I had a dog when I was growing up, believe it or not. I think he was a raider's dog that got lost, but one day he stumbled over to my family's farm half-starved, so we took him in." _Oh god,_ Ashleigh thought, _now we're telling sad dog stories._ Already this was becoming much more familiar than she had hoped it to become. She really wanted to escape this without leading him on too much, if it could be avoided.  

"Yeah, dogs are great. Anyways, I wanted to talk to you about what happened the day Catherine's body was found." There was no way he didn't notice the shortness in her tone. This was why Deacon handled any operation that needed more than one solid day of playing a role - she got tired of it much too easily, and she didn't see herself changing that tendency today. 

Fortunately, he laughed in amusement at her words. "Right to the point, I see. Alright. I'm not sure why you're so focused on solving this unless you want to give the killer a medal or something. She wasn't even human." 

Ashleigh could slap whatever god decided that the ones with the prettiest faces were allowed to have the ugliest thoughts. "It's  to set a precedent," she answered. "We're treating this like any other murder because we want people to know that the Minutemen can support them if they need it." _And because it's the fucking right thing to do, asshole._ "Humor me. Start at the beginning and tell me what you know." 

"Well, just so you know I wasn't there from the beginning. They called me in once the crime scene had already been picked at. Grace wasn't even there by the time I got there." 

"Did you find that odd that they would wait so long to call you in? You are in charge of the closest thing the town has to a crime fighting division." 

"This is embarrassing, ok, but I'm a heavy sleeper and it was the crack of dawn. They sent Ralphy to get me, and can you imagine a weaker wake-up call than that kid politely knocking at your door like there hadn't been a murder?" She smiled, _genuinely_ , at the thought. It made her think of the first couple nights she had spent at Nate's apartment when they had just begun dating, and she was afraid to wake him up even though he told her exactly when he needed to be up for work, so she just tried rolling around in bed a bit more aggressively than if she were changing positions naturally, hoping that he would wake up on his own that way. It didn't work. 

She hated how much Owen made her think of Nate. It was the army-boy build and the big, toothy smile that crinkled his eyes and revealed the dimples on his cheeks, and _no, not now._ This boy was about as far as possible from Nate in everything except appearance. She pushed the thought from her mind as much as she was able. 

"Right. Well, I just need to fact-check a few things. Who was with you when you got to the scene?" 

He answered without hesitation. "Just Betsy and Isaac. Betsy was standing watch and saying things like 'I knew those two were no good,' and Isaac was examining the body. He used some water to clean out the wound on her head, and that's when he found the synth parts. God, I still can't quite believe it. How many more of those _things_ are out there?" 

The way he said that, _things,_ made something inside her start to simmer with anger. She wanted to say something like, "More than you'd like, and none of them need you to find them out," but she held herself back, because at least the facts lined up so far. It wasn't worth upsetting him now. She would try her best to remain civil.  

"It would really help if you could stop being so confident that Catherine was out to get everyone and Grace was the one who killed her. How should I put this... Alright, so there's this thing called the presumption of innocence that obviously doesn't exist anymore, but it used to be kind of a big deal. Innocent until proven guilty, it was an international right. So, that means that the burden of proof lies with the prosecution to give substantial evidence that the accused is guilty. Since there is no prosecution here, I'm leaving it to everyone who keeps saying that Catherine clearly had it in for everybody to fill that role. If you believe that Catherine had malicious intentions, prove it to me. And if you believe that Grace is the one who killed her like everyone else seems to, you're going to have to prove that too. And, no, we're excluding her own confession since she clearly was coerced into self-incrimination. I'm the judge here too, I get to decide that. So, prosecution, make your case." 

She realized that probably came across as a lot more hostile than she intended. 

Owen made a face – what kind, she couldn't quite tell. Amused interest mixed with confused disbelief, maybe? "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously. 

Right. Knowledge of pre-war law, even at a very basic level like that, wasn't exactly common anymore. "I read some books," she answered simply. She had, in fact, read _many_ books, though fewer of them about criminal law than people assumed when she said the word lawyer. "Let's start over," she conceded. "So, you got to the scene, Isaac found the synth components. Tell me what happened after that. Details." 

"Isaac was freaking out. He said something about wires and then started pacing around and repeating himself. I looked at the body to see what he was talking about, and there it was. I tried to calm him down. The other times we had synth bodies recovered, he was ecstatic. I guess this time it was different because he knew her, and she had hidden so well." They reached some discarded tires on their walk and took a seat on them. 

Everything so far lined up with Isaac's story, a fact which relieved her much more than she thought it would. They were about to get to the kicker, though; she wondered if the story would hold. "Isaac said you encouraged him to keep the body for research," she mentioned. 

Owen nodded, furrowing his brow. "Of course," he said.  "Why wouldn't we keep the best chance we have at understanding these things? The Institute may be gone, but obviously the synths are still out there, and we have to defend ourselves. I think Isaac's little hair dryer project was a shot in the dark, but who knows what else we could have found out from it. But, of course, he draws the line at dissecting his lab assistant.” To Ashleigh, that seemed a pretty reasonable line to draw. “I assume you know what happens next.” 

She shrugged. “Yeah, probably. But I want to hear it from you.” She tilted her head toward him and smiled with the words, her eyes meeting his in a way that she hoped communicated genuine interest at whatever he had to say. 

He sighed. “Isaac wanted her buried, said he wasn’t touching it, so I took care of it. I sent him off to get cleaned up, because he was really shaken up.” She began leaning into him, which he responded to by standing up and offering her a hand. She accepted, twining her fingers with his just a little too long, because she still wanted to play this as intended. She could tell from his barely held breath that he noticed, and she expected him to use it as a cue to leave the business aside for a little while as she adjusts the mood to one a bit more suited to sharing secrets that weren’t rehearsed.  

What she didn’t expect was for him to catch on. “Ok, what is your angle here?” he asked, jerking his hand away suddenly.  

“What do you mean?” she asked, simultaneously trying to play dumb and genuinely wondering what he was accusing her of.  

“You know what I’m talking about. Last night I had too much to drink to care, but now I’m starting to catch on. You suspect me, or think I know more than I’m letting on, and you think you can get it out of me by batting your eyelashes a few times.” Ashleigh tried to get the words out to counter him, but they wouldn’t come. He was right on the money, and she was bad at improvising. He continued, despite her attempts at protest. “If you have something to ask me, ask it. Otherwise, I'm going back to work.” 

She pursed her lips, trying to give the most apologetic expression she could manage. Hell of a time to be speechless, but what could she say? He sighed, shaking his head, and spoke in a lowered tone once again. “I'll be around, if you need anything else.” 

He walked away without a second glance, leaving Ashleigh and Dogmeat alone as he turned the corner. That probably should have gone better, but she never expected that he would be perceptive enough to see what she was doing. Now she was left with no more information to go on and a bitter taste in her mouth that came from having deception revealed. It was frustrating, but she had to admit that she probably deserved every bit of anger he directed at her, and that was a cheerful thought if she ever had one. 

* * *

 

Her previous task having ended in utter failure, Ashleigh decided to check on Deacon. He had to be having better luck than she was. She headed in the direction of where they had parted, hoping to find him waiting for her. When she didn't see him outside, she let herself into the house they had been directed to earlier.  

To her relief, Deacon was _obviously_ having a much better time of the questioning than she had. He sat on a dilapidated sofa facing an older woman, her wiry black hair streaked with grey, and great bags under her heavy-lidded eyes in stark contrast to her pale skin. Her expression revealed contentment in spite of her stern features. A plate of cornbread sat on the table between them. They might as well have been having teatime, Ashleigh mused. She was pleased that should could expect a much more amicable conversation here. 

Deacon brightened at Ashleigh's entrance. "Ash!" he greeted. "Betsy, this is the general." His tone was light and cheerful, and Ashleigh realized that the teatime-with-grandma atmosphere was entirely his doing. She would let him handle the talking, then – she was much too annoyed after her meeting with Owen to do anything to improve this scene that already seemed to be going well. 

She took a seat beside him while greeting Betsy with a pleasant "Nice to meet you," which the older woman returned by suspiciously examining her from head to toe without moving her head so much as to give an acknowledging nod. Well, this was going swimmingly already, and she hadn't even had time to piss anyone off right yet. Ashleigh gave Deacon a tense smile through which she intended to communicate "Please, please, please just keep handling things your way, I don't want to do this right now." She hoped she got the point across, and knowing Deacon he probably understood as soon as she walked into the room anyways. 

He obliged, leading the conversation. "You caught us gossiping about the neighbors. Betsy, please go on." 

She spoke, her voice hard and gravely, while keeping her eyes unmoving on Ashleigh. "Well, you know how it is. Everyone _wanted_ to like them, because they were new and _different_ , so nobody noticed what was going on behind the scenes. But I had my kids to look after – they're outside feeding the brahmin right  now - so I was keeping a close eye on them." Still feeling the weight of the old woman's stare, Ashleigh couldn't imagine what Betsy must look like _without_ her eye on someone. "I was one of the first ones here, so I remember when those two moved in. Never did like them, something about them just seemed so dishonest. Especially the synth. She'd be nice to everyone, but she kept to herself so much it was like she was just pretending to care. I wouldn't let my kids talk to them, that's for sure." 

Deacon nodded graciously as she spoke. Occasionally Betsy would flick her eyes from Ashleigh over to him momentarily, but they always returned. Ashleigh tried to keep her expression unreadable, but the slow drawl the woman spoke in was almost as grating as the story she told, and she was afraid it would show. "Is there anything specific you heard from them?" Deacon asked, trying to steer her onto a more concrete track. 

Betsy nodded solemnly. "They mostly kept to themselves, until the first attack. I think Catherine knew they were coming for her – she kept telling Grace that they need to get out, leave the Commonwealth, but Grace was having none of it." Ashleigh and Deacon shared a sideways glance. _This_ was news, assuming the old woman could be trusted.  

"And they got into fights about this?" Ashleigh pressed. 

"Yes," Betsy answered curtly. "Kept me awake some nights they were so loud going at it. Catherine wanted to leave _bad,_ but Grace said she was happy here, and they'd never find a place this good again, but Catherine kept saying she was scared to death of the synths. Well, Grace didn't buy it. The last time I remember hearing them fight, Grace said something along the lines of, 'Get into a fight with your boyfriend recently?' When I thought about it, she really did spend a lot of time with her scientist friend. I didn't think _their kind_ was interested in that, but I guess synths aren't that discerning." 

Ashleigh felt her body tense at the multiple levels of bigotry in Betsy's commentary and shifted uncomfortably. Deacon noticed, and spoke calmly before Ashleigh had time to say something she would regret. "When was that argument?" 

"Hmm, maybe three days before the murder. Couldn't have been more than a week." 

"Do you think this might've had something to do with it?" 

"Well, I think it's pretty clear what happened. Grace got jealous and tired of the fighting. Maybe she suspected that Catherine was hiding something with how much she wanted to leave, and she killed her." 

"You seem pretty sure of that," Ashleigh interrupted with a short tone. "But if you never liked them, how do we know you're not just seeing what you want to see?" 

Betsy straightened defensively. "Oh, I see. You think that _I'm_ the one lying. I found them outside that morning, blood all over, and Grace just laying there with the murder weapon beside her. I don't think it could get much clearer." 

There was a moment of tense silence as the women held each others glares in challenge that was suddenly broken when the door swung open and Betsy's children – all five of them – stomped in and gathered to stand around their mother. Betsy stood, and Deacon and Ashleigh followed suit. "I think you should go," she warned.  

"I hope you feel safer now that the big bad robot next door has been murdered. I hope it doesn't bother you at all that a wonderfully sweet woman by all accounts but yours is _dead_ and her wife is so in shock with grief that she's convinced herself it's her fault. I'm glad your children are safe from all these bad influences now." She was seething, and though she knew this was just about the worst possible thing she could do right now, Ashleigh couldn't help it. She was tired of this; tired of just about everything, and this woman's hatred pushed her over the edge. She felt Deacon's hand on her wrist to steer her gently backwards, but it did nothing to calm her. 

Betsy stepped forward as her children stepped back to group together behind mother goose. "I'll let you decide if you want to believe what I told you or not, but you have absolutely no right to say things like that in my house and in front of my children." She pointed a finger inches from Ashleigh's face. "Someone with a life like yours has no idea how it feels to want to protect your family." 

Ashleigh slapped Betsy's finger away from her face, the sound of which reverberated across the silent room. "You don't know a fucking thing about my life."  

She turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. She heard Deacon follow her, but she continued on, out the door, and down the road to nowhere in particular without looking back. After a time, she heard him say, "Well, I think that went well." 

His voice made her stop and allow him to fall in beside her. "Can we please not right now?" 

"I get the impression that things didn't go well with Owen either." 

"Better than with Betsy." She sighed, and fell down to sit in the shade of a building. After looking around to make sure no one was within earshot, she admitted, "I can't do this, Dee. This fucking place... it reminds me of home, which is weird because I never got the same thing at Sanctuary. But here... these people are all just trying to make their lives, and it's all just so _normal,_ everywhere except for where the Institute has touched it. Betsy was right. I've never had a family to protect because it was fucking taken from me. I thought I was done chasing ghosts." She threw her head back against the wall behind her. Deacon sat beside her, inches away but just far enough that their shoulders didn't touch. Testing the waters, she supposed. When he didn't speak, she continued. "I'm sorry. That whole outburst was stupid and childish. I should've just let you handle things." 

"Hey, you said what we were both thinking. Let's not pretend that she didn't have it coming." 

"That's not the point and you know it." 

He turned to look at her. Once again, she wished she could see his eyes. The ever-present sunglasses never bothered her before, but lately they just felt like another wall between them that she would never be able to climb. She reached for his hand and pulled it between them, her fingers lacing through his. This time, she allowed herself to feel the comfort in his touch, attempting to disbelieve the air of uncertainty that hung in the action.  

"What do you want to do?" he asked after some time had passed. 

 _Good fucking question._ She squeezed his hand lightly as she rolled the thoughts around in her mind. "I have to get out of here. I can't do this. I don't want to leave it like this, but... honestly, Betsy might be right. We have _nothing_ to say that Grace didn't kill Catherine, and they've got a bloody rock and a lot of witnesses to a crime scene who say she did. Let's just get her out of here, get her to the Memory Den, and get her out of the Commonwealth. Screw the Minutemen, Preston can deal with the fallout if he ever shows up." 

She was upset at the prospect of running away, but she didn't trust herself to continue putting on a happy face and trying to fix everyone else's problems anymore. Not that it would likely matter anyways if she was willing – she didn't expect people to take kindly to news of her outburst. "Think it over for a little, if you need," Deacon offered. "I have a plan for getting Grace out, so don't worry about it." 

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "Can we just stay here for a little while? I want to talk to Grace before we do this, but I need to cool down first." She deserved to know the truth – that was a conversation Ashleigh would not run away from. 

"Sure thing, boss," he said as he adjusted his position against the wall to be more comfortable. As he moved, she pushed herself towards him, forcing his arm around her shoulders so she rested against his chest.  

She needed this, needed his support. It terrified her how much she had come to rely on him and how distant he still felt, despite it all. 

"Is this ok?" she asked with genuine concern.  

He replied by planting a kiss on the top of her head and held her tighter. "I don't know what you think could possibly not be ok about relaxing on a warm summer day with a beautiful woman in my arms." She closed her eyes and let herself relax, enjoying the quiet sincerity of the moment and willing herself to believe him.  

"I don't know what I'm doing, Deacon. With this case, with you, just in general. Does that bother you?" 

He tipped his head toward hers so that his cheek rested on the top of her head. She could feel his breath gently blow across her hair as he spoke. "I know I'm a good liar, but if I ever gave you the impression that I have anything at all figured out, I must be even better than I thought." 

"I guess this will have to do, then. You and I, a couple of lost little liars pretending that everything was all our plan after all." 

"I'd be honored to be lost with you." 

To Ashleigh, it felt as if she would be lost _without_ him, and that was a prospect much more terrifying and wonderful than any other she had encountered at Starlight.  

* * *

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, silent and unmoving in the cool shade. They were far enough out of the way behind a building that no one noticed them, or if they did no one was bothered.  

That is, until Ashleigh was pulled back to reality by the warm, wet tongue of Dogmeat on her face. Immediately after came a familiarly loud voice. 

“Hey, that’s where you two went off to!” came Levi’s amicable shouting. “I thought the dog might be able to find you. Sorry, I hope I wasn’t interrupting nothing.”  

Ashleigh reluctantly sat forward out of Deacon's arms and forced her stiff limbs into standing. “No, it's fine. Just needed to take a little break, think some things over. What did you need?” 

He turned his expression downward slightly, but kept the tone (and volume) from before when he spoke. “I heard about what happened with Betsy. I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear about the smoke coming out of her ears. Not that she didn’t deserve it, that much I’m sure of.” 

Ashleigh smiled meekly at him. If Betsy was going around telling everyone what had happened, that was probably it for the investigation. People wouldn't be willing to trust her anymore, and she didn’t exactly give them any reason to. Still, she felt bad for the people like Levi who were still on her side and wanted to see this mystery solved.  

“Look,” Levi continued, his voice ever so slightly hushed. “There's a lot of weird stuff going on ever since those synth attacks started. Maybe before. A lot of folks only know part of the story, and, ah, well, there are a few things they’ve been getting wrong. Can we, uh, step out this way a little?” He motioned for them to walk down the road near where they had been sitting heading out of town.  

“Sure thing, of course we've got time for you,” Deacon said. “What do you have for us?” 

Levi sighed, scratched his head, and looked around. “I'm afraid I might not have been entirely truthful with you. I, eh, I didn’t lie to you ever, but I might know a bit more than I've let on. And I’m telling you this now because I trust you, and I want you to be able to find who killed that sweet girl, ok?” 

Ashleigh nodded. “Of course. Go on.” 

“Alright, I'm gonna start from the beginning, then. Have you two ever heard of the Railroad?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters this week, because I'm really happy about where this is going right now. This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Things went wrong! There was angst! Fluff! A cliffhanger I've been waiting a while for! Things are going to really start speeding up from this point on, and I'm very excited about what's next.


	6. This is the night, what it does to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playing fast and loose with some things that weren't really explained in canon. Don't worry, I think you'll like it.

"Have you two ever heard of the Railroad?" 

Ashleigh was struck speechless by the question. Why would he bring this up now? Obviously he knew more than he had been letting on before, but how didn't they know he had a connection to them? She looked to Deacon as she struggled to mask the alarm in her eyes; naturally, he was caught less off guard. 

"Yeah, I've heard of them," Deacon said, casually. "They're the ones who were sneaking synths out of the Institute, right? Is that how Catherine got here?" 

Levi nodded. "She told me some about it once. Said she was a maintenance worker at the Institute, 'til they snuck her out. They were gonna reprogram her, the Railroad, I mean, and give her a new personality and new memories so she wouldn’t get found out, but she refused it." 

 _What?_ That wasn't exactly how their people handled things. Not that she ever exactly agreed with those practices, but in the long run it was probably safer for the synths. Dr. Amari wasn't exactly that close to the Railroad administration, so she supposed something like that could go on without her telling anyone, but why would Catherine refuse?  

Deacon, on the other hand, appeared impressed. Catherine _had_ gone for that long without actually letting anyone on to her secret. Of course, people said they suspected her after the fact, but no one had yet offered any concrete reason why they had any reason to believe she wasn't human. It wasn't often that people were capable of that level of deception. 

That thought led Ashleigh to an entirely different question. "Nobody knew she was a synth until after she died. Why did she tell you this?" 

Levi rubbed at his neck anxiously. "Yeah. This is where things get weird, and I'm really going out on a limb here with trusting you with this. Here goes, from the beginning. The synth attacks on Starlight were 'cause of me. Not that I meant to, but, ah, things took a turn one day..." He trailed off, scratching his head as he struggled to find the words to explain the situation. 

“If this is going where I think it is,” Deacon started before shaking his head. “No, on second thought I'll just let you go on.” 

Levi continued to fidget. Ashleigh nodded at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow in frustrated sympathy. When he finally continued his story, it was in an apologetically exasperated tone. "This was right when things with the Institute started to get bad. News was coming in of settlements getting attacked by synths, and all the caravaneers were watching their backs like every damn person they ran into was gonna be one too. I think Catherine was gettin' nervous. She wanted to leave something behind if she had to skip town. Somethin' for Grace. I found her out in the woods way out of town one day when I was doing patrols. Oh, right, I wasn't part of the guard, I was just filling in. Anyhow, Catherine was there, she was recordin' a holotape explaining why she had to leave, a just-in-case kinda thing. She didn't know I heard. That's when I... I dunno the word. Activated, I guess?" 

Ashleigh's eyes widened. "You're a synth?" 

"Aye," he confirmed. "Not like she was though. I don't fully understand it myself, but I'd say I was one of the type that had been attackin' the other towns, because as soon as I heard what she said it felt like something in me snapped. Like, ah, like I needed to do what I could to return her, you know? I think that was my job, they put me here to find the ones that ran away. I don't exactly know what I was going to do with her, I guess I hadn't thought that far ahead or something, all I did at that moment was go toward her with the intent to restrain her. She could tell something was wrong right away, she got up and pulled a gun out. She yelled at me to back off, that she could explain, but I didn't. I don't really remember what happened then. She told me later that I said something about taking her back to the Institute, and as soon as I said that, she shot me in the leg." 

That explained the slight limp he had. Ashleigh had almost stopped noticing it since their first meeting, it was subtle enough, but now that he said it she could see the evidence of major injury. "You're obviously okay now. What happened?" 

"Yeah, I'd expect a sleeper agent to go on a bit more of a murder rampage after being shot in the leg, but kudos to you, sir," Deacon said, his voice full of irony.  

"Well, I wasn't doing a lot of moving anymore after how she shot me. So she tried to talk me down from whatever it was I was doing, saying stuff like, 'This isn't you,' and, 'Neither of us want to hurt each other.' I guess it kinda sank in, because, you know, I really didn't want to hurt her. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Whatever it was I was _supposed_ to be doing here, I liked what I'd done with my life and I wanted to keep it. I sure as hell wasn't about to ruin hers." 

"So, when you 'activated' it informed the Institute, and that's what caused the attacks?" Ashleigh asked, attempting to piece together some continuity in his story. From what she saw in the Institute, it certainly wasn't implausible, though no one had ever taken the time to explain to her how the sleeper agents actually functioned. Probably because they were planted in the Minutemen settlements like this one, and the engineers at the SRB especially didn't trust her with any more information than she needed. _As was probably wise_ _, considering_ _._  

"Yeah, I think so. It started right after that, less than a week." 

Deacon spoke up next. "And since then, what, you and Catherine had been having Synths Anonymous meetings every week? Man, I'd love to sit in on one of those." 

"Deacon..." Ashleigh started, but she was interrupted by Levi's booming chuckle. 

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he answered. "We didn't talk about it much, but I think she liked having someone else watchin' her back and keepin' the secret." 

"No one else knew?" Ashleigh asked. 

"Not that I know of. I sure as hell didn't tell anybody. She had a few people suspicious – she was so sweet, helpful, but she wasn't the most outgoing, and people talked about that. Betsy never liked her, but you knew that. Ralphy didn't either, I think that was 'cause she was close with his uncle. She got along fine with everyone else, either by being friendly or staying out of their way." 

"She was very lucky that you were the one to find her," Ashleigh said, fishing for details on the improbability of the situation. Levi wasn't even supposed to be on patrol that day, according to him. The situation leading to him finding her there, when anyone else would have had an even worse reaction, was startlingly unlikely. If he knew any more than he was letting on, she would find it. So much for leaving things unanswered. 

"Luck? Maybe. I think there's something that draws people together who have these secrets. She needed someone to share with, and I needed to know this about myself. People who are alike just kinda know it, they'll find each other." 

"That was almost profound," said Deacon, solemnly. "You're not about to start preaching about Atom, are you?" Ashleigh punched him in the arm at his comment, but Levi only smiled.  

"Don't count on it," he said. "To answer your question, it wasn't as lucky as you think. I used to fill in for Ralphy all the time. He wanted to work with the guard, but, well, you can imagine how that would go, so Owen put him to keep an eye on outside of town. Usually just shoots radroaches, but half the time he couldn't make it when he was helping out Isaac in the lab or Betsy with the brahmin. Meant that I got to go on a walk a couple times a week, not a bad job." 

Ashleigh and Deacon shared a glance, reading each other for their take on the story. Ashleigh couldn’t imagine Levi lying about this. Something so far-fetched had to be accurate, especially from a person as truly genuine as Levi, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he might not be telling everything. When he spoke, Ashleigh got the impression that Deacon felt the same.  

“You're sure that no one else knew about you, Catherine, or Grace?”  

Levi thought about it for a moment. “No, nobody I can think of. We were worried that Isaac suspected somethin’, but he obviously didn't.” 

“What about Betsy?” Ashleigh asked. “She heard them arguing sometimes, maybe something slipped out.” 

Levi laughed his massive laugh. “With the way that woman talks, the whole Commonwealth would have heard about it if she knew a damn thing.” Levi looked around before turning his gaze toward Starlight. “Look, I've got to get back to work. If there's anything else you need, that’s where I'll be. Can't really talk about this kind of stuff in town though, you know how it goes.” 

Ashleigh nodded. “Thanks, Levi. Thank you for trusting us with this.” She took in a deep breath to gather her strength. “I'll make sure this gets solved, for your sake as much as Grace.” Deacon put a hand on her shoulder at the words. She appreciated the gesture that seemed to give her roots with which to steady her determination. There would be no running away from this after all.  

Levi turned to return to town, while Ashleigh pivoted to face her partner. Deacon raised an eyebrow as he watched Levi exit, and spoke when he was finally out of earshot. “What's your take on this?” 

“I think Levi gives proof against the people who say synths can't think for themselves. And I think that I still kind of want to run the fuck away, but that’s hardly an option now.” She added a light laugh to the end of her statement to add a lightheartedness to it, which Deacon seemed to accept.  

“I think there was something he wasn’t telling us.” 

Ashleigh sighed. “Yeah, I got that too. _Someone_ had to know that Catherine was a synth. I don’t think they knew about the other two. If they did, there'd have been two murders that night. Someone knew Catherine was a synth, tipped her off that they knew, and killed her.” 

“Ok,” Deacon countered, “but what if they _did_ know about Grace too. They didn’t want to kill anybody they didn't have to, so they pulled the classic ‘frame for murder’ maneuver.” 

“Wait,” Ashleigh began, “I think I know how they would’ve found out. I'm gonna sound crazy here, but what if Isaac's little toy actually worked?” It wasn’t impossible, just unlikely, and she couldn't shake the suspicion ever since Isaac showed it to them. “It didn’t do anything to Catherine, because she was used to it from being around it, building it. But Grace hadn’t, and she was found passed out. According to her story, she was sleeping before Catherine woke her to run, so she wasn’t exactly in top condition. What if it worked enough to affect her, but not Catherine?” 

Deacon considered the idea. “I think we might need to do some experimenting tonight,” he said with a dangerous half smile. “Maybe it would be better if we didn’t tell Isaac that we're taking his baby out for a test drive.” 

“I think I’m down for some breaking and entering. Shall we ask Levi if he minds being our guinea pig?” 

“I was actually thinking Grace.”  

Shit. “We'll have to tell her what it means…” 

“We have to tell her anyways, and I seem to remember you being all ready to do that and run an hour ago.” 

Ashleigh sighed. She didn’t like it, and she really didn’t like making Grace relive it if that was what happened to her that night, but Deacon probably had an argument about how it was better to test for Grace's reaction to the device in particular if she tried to say as much. “Fine. But… later. Let's head back.” 

They didn’t make it far into town before they were greeted by a sight that made Ashleigh halt. Preston had finally arrived, _and he was_ _talking to Betsy._ “Shit, Dee, I changed my mind. Let's disappear forever, we can do the face change thing and never have to deal with explaining what happened there or seeing or talking to that evil woman ever again. Sound good?” 

Deacon looked her over in exaggerated consideration. “You know, I think you'd look good as a redhead. And I could finally get that thing with my chin fixed.” 

“I have to talk to him, don’t I?” 

“You don’t _have_ to do anything. You can quote me on that.” 

“I'm going to wait until he's done talking to the witch.” She stepped around the corner, leading Deacon behind her. “I'm being childish, aren’t I?” 

“I think you're being _perfectly_ reasonable.” 

They waited like that for what felt like forever, Ashleigh occasionally prompting Deacon to peek around the corner. Finally, Betsy turned back to her work, and Preston started down the road towards them. When he passed by, Ashleigh greeted him with a friendly, “Hey, Preston,” which probably sounded as fake-casual as it felt.  

“Look at that, the Commonwealth's best hat has come to join the investigation,” Deacon said lazily.  

 Preston looked them both over, clearly expressing confusion at their hiding spot. “What are you doing?” 

“Hiding from Betsy while waiting from you,” Ashleigh admitted with a sheepish expression. “Whatever she said about me is probably true.” 

Preston raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t say anything specific, she just seemed angry… what did you do?” 

Ashleigh laughed uneasily. “Oh, nothing important. Just a disagreement.” 

Deacon came to the rescue, attempting to change the subject. “So, what's the news?” 

Preston considered Deacon for a moment, the annoyed confusion still clear in his scrunched features. “I'm fine. What are you doing here, Deacon?” 

“Just visiting old friends, of course. Why do you ask?” 

Ashleigh sighed. She looked around the corner before pulling Preston into their alley. In a harsh whisper she answered for him. “This has become Railroad business, Preston.” 

He nodded, looking away with a sigh. “I hope you're not planning anything that will make the Minutemen look bad.” 

“I'm not planning it, no…” she answered, trailing her voice at the end. “Look, the murdered girl is a synth. Her wife, the accused, is a synth. And there is at least one other synth here, and if we don’t do what we can to make these people _not_ turn against them or things are going to look even worse for a lot more.” 

“These people are counting on us, General,” Preston said slowly.  

“I'm sorry, Preston, but this is bigger than your pride.” 

He backed off at the blow. “I realize that, _General._ It's about the trust these people have in the Minutemen’s ability to protect them.” 

She liked Preston, she really did. It was difficult not to, at times, which was why this argument was especially frustrating. She tried her best to back down with her next words. “I'm sorry. I'm still trying to solve this, I'm just trying a bit harder than may be ethical to make sure that we come to the conclusion that Grace did not kill her wife so that we can get her out of here and plant her somewhere else.” Preston crossed his arms, nodding as he listened. “Help us solve this and I won't have to ask you to stay out of our way.” 

Preston sighed. “Fine. I'm not going to question the chain of command – I trust you to do what's right. If I’m going to help, I need you to catch me up on what you know.” 

The pair led Preston to a quiet spot outside of town. Deacon gave Ashleigh a pointed look that said he didn't want Preston on board here, but she knew he would trust her judgment regardless. When they confirmed that no one was around to listen, Ashleigh began filling in the details. 

* * *

 

They spent the better part of the evening talking to Preston, before the trio went off to find food. On the way, they introduced him to some of the figures they had met in their time at Starlight, allowing him to put faces to the names and stories they spent all that time throwing at him.  

After the sun had set, Ashleigh and Deacon retired to their room in the boarding house. It was early for sleep, but they hadn’t told Preston about their plans to steal Isaac's research to see if it actually worked. Ashleigh didn’t think he would approve, and Deacon was more than happy to tell the Minuteman as little as possible. When the door shut behind them, both released a long-held breath of the stresses of the day.  

“So, what's the plan, Dee?”  

He stretched, yawning, before answering. “I do the plans now? Fine. Let's rest up, we'll go when everybody is sleeping. I hope your sneaking skills haven’t gotten rusty,” he said with a smirk.  

“I guess you'll find out, if you can keep up. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself,” she said in challenge.  

“Hey there,” he said, throwing up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “I'm not that much older than you that you get to make those jokes. It just happens that behind you is one of my favorite places to be.” A half smile crept onto his face as she realized the implication. 

She felt the butterflies in her stomach as she came to terms with the game they were playing once again. This was the push and pull, and neither could resist seeing how far the other could go. Ashleigh Weathers was not one to lose, despite the mixed signals between her mind and body. She stepped closer to him, close enough that she could feel his breath on her hair. “And here I was hoping your favorite place was underneath me,” she said in a whisper. 

Deacon let silence hang thick in the air at her words. She noted the subtle movements of his body – an arm swayed toward her before pulling back, his head tilting slightly while she imagined the eyes hidden beneath the sunglasses looking around for some refuge. She took a small step back, regretfully. This was a line she should not have crossed twice, she knew better, but some part of her that she didn’t want to admit existed really hoped some things had changed between them. “I'm sorry.” 

“Let's try to get some sleep before we go trespassing,” he said, changing the topic suddenly and with as much of the usual lightness in his voice as possible. “I didn't get much sleep last night. Turns out _someone_ snores when they sleep on their back.” 

Ashleigh gasped in faked offense. She did her best to forget the tense atmosphere; the sudden return to their usual banter helped. “At least I don’t drool all over the pillow.” 

Deacon took a pillow from the bed and laid it on the floor beside it. “Drool? Oh, that wasn’t me. That was the evil twin who comes out when I’m sleeping. Very dangerous, slightly moist.” 

Ashleigh seated herself on the creaky bed while nodding with a half smile at him. “Uh huh,” she said, stretching. She looked down at Deacon as he sat at his nest. The distance he was placing between them hurt as much as the reasoning behind it. “Dee, you don’t have to sleep on the floor. Share the bed with me.” 

He looked up at her as he considered. Finally, he stood, bringing the pillow with him. “Fine, but you had better not take advantage of me.” 

She smiled at him, laying down on her half of the small bed. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“Someone has to,” he said as he lay down beside her. They were on their sides, facing each other, fully clothed even up to Deacon's sunglasses. He rested a hand gently on her waist, which for his sake she pretended not to notice, even though in moments like this, everything that helped to close the gap was a beautiful comfort. She wanted to pull him closer and feel his arms around her again as she had not long ago when they sat together outside of town, but she knew she couldn't. The stakes here were different, and her heart and mind battled with whether she would cross that point of no return, if he would allow it.

What had happened between them had been impulsive, if inevitable. In the daylight they were safe, but this is the night, and they shared a too-small bed with too many memories, too much hurt, too much uncertainty, it was a wonder they were not crushed under the weight of it. They were two different worlds, too different worlds, but if they weren’t she thought for a moment that she could probably love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter took another month. I'll try to do better, I swear. I just want to say thanks to all the people putting up with a month-long cliffhanger, and sticking around with me since the beginning. You guys are the best.
> 
> On the chapter: I hope I did an ok job with the dialogue, because there was a LOT of dialogue. For Levi's story, I wanted to play around with some explanation behind the random settlers who sometimes go berserk and then have synth components on their bodies. I hope that came across well and didn't seem out of place. 
> 
> And, of course, I had to leave you with some angst. Feelings are hard, and Deacon is bad at them. Ash isn't very good at them either, but at least she's a little bit less of a walking contradiction.


	7. Something good will come out of all things yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK BITCHES.  
> For real though, sorry about the hiatus. I sort of wrote myself into a corner that I wasn't prepared for because writing a mystery is like doing a connect-the-dots but half the dots are missing and you don't know what the picture is supposed to be. Unfortunately, for the past six months every time I read anything with a bit of romance in it I felt guilty about this story, and basically what I'm getting at is I know where the story is going now and there's a lot more angst I can put these wonderful people through while we're getting there.
> 
> Speaking of...

Ashleigh was woken, groggy and disoriented, by her partner who seemed all too eager to do a little crime. She couldn’t tell what time it was, but the stark blackness of the room and Deacon's apparent preparedness told her that whatever the time it was exactly when he had intended to do this. He had an enviably powerful internal clock; Ashleigh, on the other hand, would have been quite content to sleep until midday if she hadn’t been interrupted.

“Let’s get going,” Deacon said, all business, upon seeing Ashleigh’s reluctance to get up. She sighed inwardly and blinked the sleep from her eyes before propelling herself upwards and to work. They parted ways once outside, Ashleigh going to speak with Grace and Deacon to break into the engineer’s lab. Ashleigh took deep breaths, steeling herself for what she expected to be a very difficult conversation with someone she had already identified as a very difficult woman.

She let herself into the shop quietly, and waited for a moment to listen for any stirring from above. If Grace was awake upstairs, she didn’t make a sound. Ashleigh retrieved the cell key from behind the counter where she had seen Levi put it the day before, and crept up the creaky stairs as gently as she could manage.

Grace was awake in her cell, sitting defensively in the corner with dark eyes static. She spoke without moving. “I figured it was you. Come to break me out?” she asked with no humor in her voice.

“No, not quite. I need to be honest with you,” she said, expectantly. Grace made no pretense of interest, much to her dismay. She wasn’t going to make this easy.

Ashleigh continued. “We knew coming here that Catherine was a synth. Actually, we should have known before then. I am, well, myself and my partner, actually, are part of the Railroad, the organization that helped synths escape the Institute. We set them up with new memories and help them find somewhere they won’t be in danger.” She paused when she saw Grace shift to look at her better. The dull light did nothing for the faraway look in her eyes, but it did plenty to highlight the dark circles beneath them.

Making unfocused eye contact with Ashleigh, Grace spoke. “So, you’ve come to say you’re sorry for letting this shit happen, then.” It wasn’t a question.

Ashleigh struggled to hold the woman’s dead eyed stare as she answered. “I am sorry for what happened, I really am. But you deserved freedom. _Both of you_.”

Grace stood suddenly and stepped forward so she was close enough to Ashleigh that she could feel the unsteady breath as she asked, nearly shouting, “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

Ashleigh took a precautionary step backwards, and Grace held her line. “You and Catherine came to the Railroad together. You had been together when you were at the Institute, and you were looking to us for someplace you could be safe together.”

Grace broke eye contact suddenly, turning and striding with long steps toward the back wall of the room. “Bullshit,” she said with none of the threat in her voice she had moments before.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Ashleigh said. She considered walking toward her, telling her to sit, anything to make this woman calm while every inch of her looked like elastic waiting to snap, but she felt helpless against the storm of emotions. Feelings Ashleigh remembered too well from the time everything she knew had changed with a few words. _Two-hundred years._ She only continued. “We rewrote your memories and brought you here. Except, Catherine didn’t want to forget. She thought she could protect you better if she knew what you both were.” She stopped, waiting for a response from Grace. There was none for a time, until the woman sat on a crate, her back still turned.

“That’s just fucking like her. She always thought she could take care of everything on her own.” Ashleigh gave her a moment, to see if she had more to say, but Grace just sat, looking down, still but for the occasional quiver in her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Ashleigh finally said. “Thank you for believing me.” She knew this was one of the hardest things Grace would have ever heard, second only to news of Catherine’s death, and appreciated how much worse this conversation could have gone.

To her surprise, Grace turned towards her again. Tears streaked down her thin face, and the eyes that had previously been so unfocused were filled with something not unlike anger. “I don’t know if you’re telling the truth or not, and either way I don’t know why the hell I’d trust you after that,” she spat, her voice sharp and words clearly punctuated with venom. “But I trust Catherine, and if she knew what she was then I want to believe that there was a damn good reason why she didn’t tell me.”

Ashleigh nodded, trying not to shrink under the woman's gaze. Times like these made it hard to stay professional, and she wished that Deacon was with her through this, for his quiet kind of support if nothing else.

Grace took a deep breath and closed her eyes, allowing fresh tears to drop. When she opened them, they had returned to the distant expression from before. “Why tell me this now?”

Ashleigh took the opportunity to relax slightly, hoping it would make the younger woman more comfortable without her looming over her. Or maybe it was for herself. She sat on a crate next to Grace, so that they both faced the cell door as they spoke. “We might have a lead on the case, but we can’t know for sure without your help.”

Grace let out a bitter laugh. “The synth disruptor Catherine and Isaac were working on,” she said like it was part of some cosmic joke that she was finally let in on.

“Yeah,” Ashleigh admitted. “We need to know if it works, and if it is anything like what happened to you that night.”

“Ok,” was Grace’s simple answer, a finality to her tone that said she was quite done with this conversation. Ashleigh took the cue, and allowed them to sit in silence until Deacon arrived some time later.

He tapped at the door left slightly ajar before letting himself in. He looked to Ashleigh for a moment before speaking; she gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “Ready to do some science?”

Grace didn’t respond to the joke, didn’t even seem to register it, but she stood none the less, rolling her shoulders as she straightened her thin figure. She shook her head once and began looking around the room, taking it in as if it had been the first time she had ever seen the surroundings she had spent days in. “Right,” Deacon continued. “Now if only I knew how this thing worked. I’ll try to give you some warning, but if I end up setting it off unexpectedly and knocking you out or something… uh, sorry.”

He turned the device around in his hands, noting a switch and some buttons. Ashleigh stood and walked over to him to assist, but there was really nothing to do but guess with this thing. “Ok, I think I’ve got it,” he said, as if talking to himself. “If this thing uses electric waves for interference like science guy said… Right. I think it’s on, I’m going to push the buttons and see what it does.” Ashleigh looked towards Grace to make sure Deacon’s uncertainty didn’t make her want to back out, but she stood strong.

Flipping the small switch on the back caused the device to make a quiet humming noise. Deacon pushed each button along the side in turn, doing his best to point the device toward Grace while operating it. They both looked at Grace questioningly between each button, and each time she shook her head negative to feeling any effect.

Once they went through them all, and again after trying the switch on and off and Grace still stood there unaffected, Ashleigh had enough. This was _pointless_. She had just told this already heartbroken woman something that would entirely change everything she thought about her life, and it was completely unnecessary because _of course_ this stupid sci-fi hairdryer did nothing. She walked towards the far end of the room, looking out the small window and hoping that it hid her frustration but knowing that it didn’t.

Deacon tried to smooth the situation over. “Well, that’s one thing ruled out. Neither of you were knocked out by this thing, because it obviously doesn’t do anything at all. Here I was hoping it would at least have a radio or something on it.”

He set the device down and looked toward Grace; the moment he did, she let out a quiet gasp and stumbled backwards, grabbing towards the wall to steady herself. It obviously wasn’t working and she began toppling around the crates until Deacon rushed over to catch her. At the commotion, Ashleigh turned toward them to see Deacon drop to catch Grace before she fell completely, but Grace turned his unsteadiness and her momentum around on him, catching herself while pushing him down. Deacon for a moment looked uncharacteristically stunned until he responded, reaching towards Grace as she slid away from him, but the advantage was on her side and she was too fast.

Ashleigh rushed into action, running towards Grace as she stumbled her way towards the cell door. “Grace, stop!” she commanded forcefully as she closed the distance between them, following her out the door toward the stairs. Halfway down the stairs she reached toward Grace’s shoulder and this time the touch connected, jerking her back momentarily until Grace lost her balance and fell the rest of the way, her shoulder and head crashing into the wall as she slid down. Ashleigh raced down the rest of the stairs as Deacon appeared in the doorway at the top.

Grace curled up and brought both arms up to the point of impact on her head, her expression one of pain as she blinked the desire to lose consciousness off. Ashleigh breathed a sigh of relief at seeing her move, at least, as she knelt beside her. “Are you hurt?” she asked. _Well of-fucking-course she was hurt._

“I’ll be fine,” Grace said, looking up and cringing at the neck movement. “I don’t imagine I can get a concussion anyways, not with what I am,” she said as fresh tears pooled in her eyes. She looked up at Ashleigh and then Deacon, who had seated himself on the bottom step in front of her, and then looked away from them both.

Ashleigh had reached the end of her tolerable stress levels. _“What the hell was that for?”_ she demanded. When Grace didn’t answer, she spoke with added force. “We’re trying to help you, and shit like this is making that really hard right now.” Ashleigh felt Deacon put a hand on her shoulder which probably meant something along the lines of _calm the fuck down_ , but she ignored it. “Grace. Tell me what you were doing.”

Keeping her eyes closed and face turned away as best she could from her position curled on the floor, she spoke. “I don’t know. I can’t do this. I want-“ her voice cracked as new tears dropped cleanly onto the floor. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live knowing what I do without her. _I don’t want to_.”

Ashleigh went slack at the words. She knew this. She knew what it felt like to be completely alone right when you’re entire life changes. It’s like your lungs forget to breathe and everything just shuts down. You can’t feel and you can’t see or hear or taste, and in those quick moments when you can feel you wish you couldn’t because everything hurts. She remembered what this was like, and she wished she didn’t no matter how much it could help the crying woman in front of her asking to die, because it was a feeling she never wanted back. But here it was again, this pain, only now she understood how it could help somebody.

She moved towards Grace and touched her gently on the arm. When there was no response, she pulled her up into a sitting position with some difficulty because of how limp Grace had become. Once upright, Grace opened her eyes and looked at Ashleigh; the same dead eyes from earlier finally took on meaning as Ashleigh recognized the expression as one she had worn time and again in the early days after leaving the vault. Tired of holding up her slack body, Ashleigh pulled Grace forward into an embrace with no resistance. As Ashleigh gently stroked her hair, Grace let herself cry freely. She held her like that silently for some time. Deacon, obviously unsure of what to do around such display of emotion, quietly excused himself and escaped upstairs.

Once Grace’s tears had slowed, Ashleigh spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “I know. I don’t think you want to hear this, but I think it’ll help. _I know._ I lost the person I loved more than anything in the world too. I’ve been where you are, and I’ve spent a long time doing what I realize now was trying to die. So believe me when I say I know how it hurts.”

Grace sniffled. It took her a couple tries before she was able to speak, but once she did she asked the question Ashleigh knew she would ask but was hoping desperately that she wouldn’t. “Does it ever get better?”

Ashleigh closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She’d never taken the time to mourn like normal people do, and even now anything from a smell to a sound came with the danger of bringing back memories of what she had and what was lost. She thought of the emptiness and loss she felt when she looked at young synth Shaun, and those brief moments where she would hear Codsworth ask if everything was alright, and she would forget that she wasn’t in the living room of her home waiting for Nate to get off work and that outside the world had ended and everyone she once knew was dead and nothing, _absolutely fucking nothing_ was going to give her the future she still sometimes can't help herself but to dream of. She thought of how everywhere she looked there would be memories of Nate and each time one hit it felt like a shock of pain all through her body until she willed herself to go numb again. She didn’t expect that would ever go away.

“No,” she answered, honestly. “It doesn't get better. But eventually you learn to live with it. You’ll hurt, but you’ll pretend it doesn’t, and sometimes you might even believe yourself that it’s enough.”

Ashleigh felt fresh tears fall onto her back. She wished she had lied, and told Grace that everything would be ok, but she knew that the truth was a painful kindness, and one that she needed to hear. In the back of her mind, Ashleigh knew that it was also one she had to say to someone, eventually.

“I don’t think I’m that strong,” Grace admitted.

“I sure wasn’t. But I had something that I needed to do, and I was going to burn down the world if that’s what it took, and maybe if there was any justice left I wouldn’t make it out either. That’s what I thought.” She wondered when she stopped trying to die. She barely remembered her first meeting with the Minutemen, that’s how lost she had been. She had stumbled her way into Boston with only the goal of finding revenge or finding rest. Maybe it was when she found the Railroad, and she was given a reason beyond herself. “But I did survive it. And you’re going to as well, because right now we still have to find out who killed Catherine and make sure this never happens again.” She surprised herself with the conviction in her voice.

Grace pulled herself away from Ashleigh to look at her. Her tears had begun to dry, though fresh ones threatened. The redness from crying blended with the bags under her eyes as if she were covered in bruises. “And after that?”

Ashleigh looked away as she gathered her thoughts. She wanted to say something along the lines of _things will work themselves out_ _because that's what they do,_ but that seemed like too much of a lie. At some point, Ashleigh supposed, she stopped trying to die, but it took a long time after that for her to start trying to live. She allowed the vague thoughts to take form into words.

“I think… Maybe there’s room somewhere for everybody. You’re not looking for anything, but then someday you wake up and _that’s ok_. You put on your shoes and walk out the door because there’s always something that you have to do no matter how big or small. And maybe along the way you realize there’s people who need you.” Her thoughts flashed back to her friends at Sanctuary, her compatriots in the Railroad, Deacon upstairs. What she felt when she first pulled off his sunglasses on that night and saw the bright blue eyes beneath and she thought that probably those eyes could light up the entire world. In a whisper, she added, “People you need.”

Now she felt tears pool in her own eyes at the words she had always wanted to get out. She never had a chance to talk about these feelings, not really. She tried to collect herself, and mostly succeeded after letting only a single tear stream down her face for all the times that she hadn't cried. "You'll never be who you were before, but if you're lucky you'll like the person you've become enough that it's ok." She left out her next thought. _You just need to become good enough at lying that you believe it yourself_. She had learned that from the best. She probably wouldn't be here without him, and somehow with that thought she understood the feelings that had been shifting around inside her, unwilling to stay in the box in her heart where anything that might require her to process this change was kept.

"I guess in a way, it does get better. If you let it."

Grace tried on a small smile before realizing it didn't fit her. Suddenly, a noise at the top of the stairs drew her attention. Ashleigh quickly wiped at her eyes while standing. She then offered a hand to Grace. From the top of the stairs, Deacon reluctantly spoke. "I didn't want to interrupt, but I need to get this back before anyone misses it." He held up the useless weapon prototype.

"Right," Ashleigh said, feigning control. "Are you ok to go back?" she asked Grace, who silently nodded.

As Deacon passed by them at the bottom of the stairs, Grace's eyes focused on the device he carried.

"Wait."

Grace's sudden exclamation seemed to startle even herself. "This piece," she trailed off as she pointed to a receiver on the end. "I've seen this before, or something like it. Catherine was working on it when she came home from the lab sometimes. If I asked her about it, she always said it was for a clearer radio transmitter or something, but she always kept it on her."

Ashleigh and Deacon exchanged serious glances. Deacon turned his attention to the part in question and found that it could easily detach, with small, clean wires beneath to hook it, or a replacement, back up. "Looks like she maybe did have more than a passing interest in this project," Deacon said inquisitively. "Maybe Isaac was right after all and she had been sabotaging it."

"I bet if we can find the working part, we can find who did this." Ashleigh looked at them both with a renewed fire, and she was pleased to see even Grace light up.

Deacon gave them both a proud smirk before heading to the door. "Meet you back at our room and we'll make a game plan."

Ashleigh led Grace willingly up the stairs and back to her cell. She still looked tired, but there was a determination in her face that gave Ashleigh hope. "We will need to piece together everything from that day, to see where she could have lost the working part and who could have taken it. If we have any questions-"

"Of course," Grace interrupted.

"No more trying to run off," Ashleigh warned. "Help us, and we will find whoever did this and it will never happen again. I promise."

Grace didn't bother with attempting a friendly smile this time, but the sincerity in her voice was telling enough. "Thank you."

"It's my job," Ashleigh cartoonishly beamed back.

"No. For what you said. Thank you for understanding." Ashleigh nodded quietly as she began to slip out the cell door, leaving Grace inside.

"Does he know?" she asked just as Ashleigh began to shut the door, causing her to pause. "Sorry, I'm making assumptions, but the way you were talking about finding that reason, I just thought..."

"Yeah," Ashleigh spared her the trouble of explaining herself. "I think he does. He must." _But i_ _t's complicated. But he lost someone too. But maybe we're both too trapped in the past to actually let ourselves feel._

_But..._

_I love him anyways._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not subscribe to the Ashleigh-Deacon school of grief management. It's definitely not healthy.


End file.
